


Patches

by Alkuna



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, Battle, Betrayal, Crows, F/M, Poisoning, ShadowClan (Warriors)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkuna/pseuds/Alkuna
Summary: Loner Patches has a past shrouded in mystery. When he finds the scrawny, serious apprentice Nightpaw cornered in an alley of the twoleg place; a casual act of kindness reveals that both their stories have just begun...





	1. Chapter 1

Patches gaped his jaws in a huge yawn as the moon lifted above the high twoleg nests. As the moon came up, the loner was beginning his 'day'. Some cats hunted during the day, but the tom found the night and the shadows more to his liking. Stretching out each muscular leg luxuriously, he padded out of the sheltering box that had been left in the alley.

Made out of wooden slats and stuffed with rich smelling wood shavings, it provided both warmth and shelter for those cold rainy days in Leafbare. Now that it was Newleaf, the days weren't so bad. He couldn't help but be thankful for that; sooner or later the Twolegs would find his box and take it away. That was the way of things in the Twoleg place; shelter came and went, as did hunting grounds and food. Several cats who made their home here were more than eager to tussle and fight over food or gang together to overwhelm those weaker than themselves.

Patches, on the other hand, rarely had to fight. If he caught it or found it, he ate it. Few cats were bold enough to try to snatch it away. The times they were, they were never so flea brained as to repeat the mistake. He had no patience for fools and when he clawed someone, they remembered his claws long after the bleeding stopped and the injury healed.

Idle curiosity turned his paws as he heard threatening snarling coming from another alleyway. As he recalled, it dead-ended at a high wall and some trashcans. Indeed, three cats had cornered a small back cat against the wall and were closing in on her.

"Leave me alone! I haven't done anything!" The small stranger wailed. She was so thin that her pelt hung from her bones.

Like light and shadow, Patches' black and white fur let him melt through the patterns of light and darkness as he approached the group.

"You trespassed," growled a large tom, drawing his lips back in a snarl. "That's all the reason we need."

The other two chuckled in high, nasty voices. So preoccupied were they, that they didn't realize that the black and white tom was only a whisker length from their exposed flanks.

"That's true," Patches cut in, tapping the biggest tom gently on the flanks with one massive paw. The tom howled in shock and leaped three cat lengths straight up, spinning around with a hiss of fear that turned into an irate snarl as he saw who had startled him. "You always were eager to pick fights with those smaller than you, Tin."

"Patches!" Tin snarled, "Since when is this any of your concern?"

"I am merely an idle passerby," Patches commented as the other two kept the small stranger cornered, "And I was idly wondering if it had occurred to you that trapping someone is the wrong way to drive them off." He licked a large white paw and ran it over his head.

"She'll be driven off once we rip some fur out to make sure the lesson sticks," Tin hissed, "This is none of your concern.

"Oh isn't it? What about you Fence? Or you, Rock? Perhaps you two get your pleasure from attacking those who appear weaker than yourselves?"

The two named cats flinched. Fence folded the remaining half of his left ear protectively against his head. Rock turned his head to peer sideways nervously at the large tom, exposing three long furrows across his cheek; They had healed badly moons ago and no fur would ever grow over them again.

"Good, good." Patches almost crooned, "I see you two do remember what happened when you attacked me. I am pleased to see that you aren't completely flea brained after all." He turned to the cross-looking ringleader, "Now Tin, surely you listened to the stories your friends told you about me."

"There are three of us and only one of you," Tin retorted.

"One, three, or five, it means all the same to me," Patches murmured absently, his yellow eyes narrowing fractionally. "On the other paw, you could save yourselves the effort and let the youngster go. Then she'll be gone and you three could go back to whatever it is you do."

Tin was silent, his icy blue-gray eyes flicking over Patches' broad shoulders, powerful jaws and large claws. Finally he gestured with his ears for the other two to let the young cat past.

The youngster needed no urging and scrambled past the cats to the entrance of the alley. Patches rose unhurriedly and followed. The young cat looked right and left, an expression of utter helplessness in her eyes.

"Where do you live, young cat?" Patches asked calmly, turning left and beginning to walk.

"Nowhere like this," she mewed wretchedly, "and my name is Nightpaw." She followed him like a duckling lost and away from its pond.

"Do you live in the part of the Twoleg place where the nests are all much shorter? That's only a day's walk from here."

Nightpaw's tail began to drag, "I don't live near Twolegs. I live where the pine trees stretch upward like Twoleg nests and range from the mountains to the lake."

"Lake? There are no lakes around here. Not within the limits of this place anyway."

Patches led the way to a Twoleg nest where the strong smell of fish wafted through the night air. An expert leap later, Patches lay a mouse at Nightpaw's feet. "Better eat something," he advised, "and learn to eat it quick. Most cats hereabouts have no problem stealing prey right from your very mouth."

Nightpaw needed no urging; she fell upon the mouse and devoured it in a few famished gulps. Morosely, she sniffed the spot where it had lain, as though searching for scraps.

"Better not," he advised her, not unkindly, "Fat bellies slow you down and makes you a target."

"Don't your clanmates protect you?" she mewed, looking up at him.

"No. Loners don't have clans." Something sparked behind his eyes. "Hum. That word is familiar though. Come with me." Patches flicked an ear and lead the way along the hard pathways to a less bustling part of town.

"Er… Patches?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry if this is rude, but was it a monster? Did a monster get your tail?"

Patches glanced back at his tail-less flank, "Nope. We were born that way, my littermates and I. Twolegs call us Manx. I guess that's the Twoleg word for 'no tail.'"

Nightpaw didn't seem to know what to make of that, so she was quiet as they padded through the twoleg nests.

"We'll stop here to eat," Patches said finally, nodding down an alleyway. "And I suggest you eat your fill. We won't be hunting for a while after this." There was a loud clatter of wings and Patches slid stealthily from shadow to shadow until he brought back a fat pigeon that had been too interested in a bit of twoleg food.

"Why not?" Nightpaw looked up from her mouse.

"Because after here, we're entering their territory. They often don't mind our hunting, but since we're going in as visitors, it's best not to assume." Patches passed a few pieces of pigeon to Nightpaw. "Eat up."

"They?"

"Starclan."

Nightpaw choked.

"Buh…. But S-Starclan is where you go when you die!" Nightpaw shivered. "Are these cats going to kill us?"

Patches grew puzzled. "Not unless we try to take anything by force. Look young cat, I don't know what kind of Starclan you've heard of, but these cats are good cats. A bit odd, but good cats all the same. Eat," he added with a bracing tone in his rumbling voice, "and you'll think better when we meet them."

Nightpaw ate, but smelled anxious the entire time.

The two cats padded away from the towering twoleg nests until they came to a new set. These still loomed high above them, but were much shorter than the gray nests that seemed to reach upward and scrape their hard, unnatural sides against the clouds. Stone gray nests gave way to earthly reddish brown, and the snarls of the monsters faded to a slower, more leisurely rumble.

The moon had only moved a mouse length when Nightpaw glanced ahead and gasped.

A single cat sat before them, reddish-brown fur making it all but invisible against the twoleg nests. Then, as the moon slid out from behind a clouds, silvery moonlight spilled down upon the figure and set its coat ablaze in a strange shimmer. Its shadow stretched out toward them, dark as the deepest night of Leafbare.

Patches padded forward until his paws stopped just short of the shadowy ears on the ground.

"Clear skies and good hunting, Starclan hunter."

There was a moment of silence and then a she-cat's voice rang clear in the night air.

"Clear skies and good hunting Loner Patches. What brings you back to Starclan's territory?"

"I've run across a young cat who has been separated from her clan. I thought she might be one of yours." He dipped his head politely.

"We haven't lost any cats in moons," came the reply as Nightpaw peeped hesitantly around Patches' broad flanks, "But come and be welcome, so long as the peace in your hearts remains steady."

They padded forward and soon walked a step behind the strange cat's shoulders. "My name is Skygaze, Watcher of Starclan."

"Watcher?" Nightpaw asked shyly.

"Yes. I watch the stars, and the moon, and the patterns in the leaves as they blow. Then I translate them into messages from our ancestors in Skyclan." Skygaze had a purr of pride in her voice; her gaze sweeping up at the skies above where the strongest stars glittered above them.

"Do you collect herbs and heal the wounded and the sick?"

"Why yes, how did you know?" Skygaze turned to Nightpaw curiously.

"We have a cat like you in our clan. But… aren't you worried, coming out alone to meet strange cats and leading them to your kits and elders?"

"Oh," Skygaze purred, with just a hint of fierceness, "I'm not alone."

"Look up." Patches whispered, and Nightpaw obeyed.

Several fox lengths above them, was a ledge running along the middle of the twoleg nest. Shrouded in light and shadow, it took come careful watching before she realized that there were sleek figures pacing along the high paths, on either side and behind them. They were surrounded.


	2. Chapter 2

"This way," Skygaze meowed, and slipped through a narrow gap into a twoleg nest.

Patches followed, hopping down into a massive abandoned twoleg den below the ground. Cats padded out of hiding places to watch, and only moments after Nightpaw's paws hit the floor, several cats streamed into the den behind them.

"Welcome Patches and Nightpaw," rumbled a tom's voice, and a handsome dark gray cat with even darker markings on his hind legs padded into the diffuse light. "You're just in time for the Star Pool. My name is Farseer, leader of this clan. Please, join us tonight."

Friendly and curious murmurs rolled through the ranks of the cats as Skygaze indicated to the newcomers to sit near the innermost edge of the ring of cats.

Between one heartbeat and the next, a shaft of moonlight filled a hole in the wall, reflected off some bright twoleg thing, and filled the room with diffuse silvery light, pooling especially brightly on the ground within the ring of cats.

Skygaze stepped into the light and her fur immediately blazed around her as though she were lit from within by silver light.

"Cats of Starclan," she mewed clearly, "and visitors. Welcome to the time of Star Pool, when the spirits of our ancestors creep down from the stars to whisper wisdom of the past into our ears and allow us to share tongues with them again. Remember what was lost. Mew greetings to what is to come."

All cats responded with soft mews or rumbles of welcome.

Skygaze circled the pool of light, occasionally stopping and dipping her head to a cat here or there. To Nightpaw's surprise, she stopped before Patches and Nightpaw and dipped her head in welcome as well.

"Tonight, I received a sign."

An expectant and hopeful murmur rolled throughout the cats.

"Moons ago, we received a prophesy. _Patterns of light and shadow breaks away from the stars and hunts alone until it claims the night as its own._ Moons ago, Patches left Starclan with its blessings and learned how to live alone. Tonight, you return, with the Night following at your heels." Skygaze never stopped moving: circling endlessly, her eyes glittering with reflected points of light, as though her head were filled with the spirits of the ancestors.

"Wha? Me?" Nightpaw squeaked.

Whiskers twitched around the circle.

"Yes you, Nightpaw. Patches trained amongst Starclan. He knows the ways of our clan life. Upon becoming a loner, he shed the name Patchpelt and became Patches."

"Am I to be Patchpelt once more?" Patches asked quietly.

"No."

The big tom's shoulders slumped.

"The ancestors sent me a new sign, regarding your fates."

_Fates? As in, both of us?_ Patches lifted his head again.

" _The loner and night travels far, pawprints stretching away to lands far beyond the gaze of Starclan. Russet red spills blood, and an ancient hate is washed away_."

Nightpaw felt a shudder course through Patches, and she glanced up at him in askance. It sounded like a mixture of good and bad, but something seemed to horrify the powerful tom.

"It is time."

Skygaze padded out of the circle and pawed several objects out of a crack in the wall. She scooped them up in her mouth, an expression of disgust on her face. Cats of Starclan gasped in shock or hissed in horror, making way before the Watcher as though she carried Deathberries amongst them.

She spat them out at the edge of the pool of starlight, right at Patches' feet and he jerked back from them with a deep growl of loathing.

Nightpaw peered closer and gasped, backing up until her flanks bumped the paws of the cats gathered behind her.

Gleaming white and deadly sharp in the light were several dogs teeth.

"It seems their hate is not unknown to you, young Nightpaw." Skygaze had missed nothing.

"Stories…" Nightpaw swallowed and whispered, "Stories in my clan speak of the ruthless, merciless Bloodclan, who slew their enemies by reinforcing their claws with the teeth of dogs."

Skygaze's eyes seemed to pierce Nightpaw, who stared back, transfixed.

"We have all been told of the terror these teeth have brought upon other cats. The stories have passed down from queen to kit, as a lesson about the consequences of blood and power." Skygaze sighed deeply, "I have searched the ancestors for a sign so that we may rid ourselves of them safely. Tonight is the night. Patches, you must take these teeth to the lands where Nightpaw was birthed. There, you will cleanse them."

"If I must… then so be it…"

Nightpaw looked away as Patches carefully reinforced his sharp claws with the deadly teeth. They were too long to retract, and so they stuck out of his large, rounded paws... A constant reminder of their bloody, violent heritage.

"You do not need to wear them now…" Skygaze murmured, and Patches quickly reversed his movements, stripping them off and laying them aside. "When russet red spills blood, you may cast the teeth away." Skygaze promised.

Patches crinkled his nose as though catching a bad smell but did not say anything.

Farseer replaced Skygaze in the light and seemed to burn with a darker silvery light, but his eyes became like golden moons that seemed to eclipse his fur.

"Star Pool is not only about prophecy and signs." His voice, as smooth as river tumbled stones, seemed hypnotic to Nightpaw and she unconsciously leaned forward. "Tonight, we welcome the arrival of Lilysong's kits."

The darkness seemed to vibrate with proud purring as cats gently parted for a queen and a tom to pad into the light. Tiny kits squeaked softly as they were separated from their mother's warmth and laid out alone in the pool of light.

"Cats of Starclan and visitors, purr a welcome to Cedarkit and Robinkit." The queen, Lilysong, mewed.

The purring, if possible, deepened. Nightpaw didn't bother holding back a purr of her own, knowing how important kits were to the survival of a clan.

"Clan of the Skies," Farseer intoned, "Look upon these tiny sparks of life and shelter them in their frailest moments of life. Murmur your wisdom into their ears and help their hearts beat as one with the lifeblood of Starclan."

Nightpaw blinked and shook her head, positive for a moment that the kits lay surrounded by many starry-coated cats. They were all strange to her: ancestors of a different clan. But when she opened her eyes again, the warrior ancestors were gone.

Slowly the light faded as the moon moved away from the shiny twoleg thing. The proud parents retrieved their kits and vanished into the shadows to let them nurse at their mother's side.

As the meeting broke up, two forms no bigger than Nightpaw launched themselves at Patches. She sprang to her paws in alarm, and then hesitated as Patches gave an exaggerated grunt and collapsed beneath the small flailing paws of what could only be kits, nearly old enough to be apprentices.

"Get him!" one mewed, small paws pummeling at the massive tom's broad shoulders.

Whiskers twitching, Patches lay flat on the ground with a moan of defeat.

"Yeah!" the other bounced around in front of him and patted his nose with a paw, "We sure got-" the rest of the kit's boast was lost in a gasp of shock as massive paws snaked out and dragged the young cat close.

Growling playfully, Patches thrust his nose under the small cat's middle, drawing a squeal of surprised protest from him.

"Eeeek! His nose is cold!" The kit squirmed free and bolted, leaving Patches to round swiftly on the other kit, who had been staring, wide eyed at the swift attack.

In short order, both kits had fled behind the hindquarters of their mother, wriggling and trying to rub the cold spot from their soft tummies.

"You were teaching those kits a lesson," Nightpaw accused softly as they shared a final piece of freshkill for the night.

"To kits, it is a game." Patches licked his whiskers clean, his yellow eyes distant with memory, "It was a game to me when I was a kit and my own father played with my siblings and me. As kits get older and learn to fight, the lesson sticks even if they do not actively remember it. When they are apprentices, they instinctively protect their soft bellies. As warriors, it saves their lives. They protect their bellies, and they are suspicious of cats that may only _look_ defeated."

The light outside of the Starclan's camp was beginning to turn rosy and Patches stretched his jaws in a yawn. As the sun rose, he padded over to a soft nest lined with shredded paper and soft leaves; flicking his ears to Nightpaw in invitation.

"Forgive me," Farseer's voice rumbled softly, "I know you both are tired, but may I speak to Nightpaw alone?"

The Clan leader led the apprentice up a mountain of old twoleg things until they sat on the hard, flat surface of one of them.

"Look there." Farseer instructed Nightpaw. "Tell me what you see."

Nightpaw turned and found herself staring at the flat plane of a twoleg thing. To her surprise, two cats sat only a whisker length away!

A small black she-cat with dark amber eyes stared back at Nightpaw, eyes stretched wide in surprise and fascination. A large gray tom with darker stripes on his hind legs twitched his whiskers in gentle amusement at Nightpaw's surprise. Then she understood.

"It's us." She meowed.

"Very good. This is called a mirror. It is what reflects the Star Pool into our camp and guides the spirits of our ancestors down to meet with us. It also allows you to see things… special things... if you look at it right. All of our kits climb up here to stare into the mirror and tell their clan leader what they see, just before they become apprentices. Then, just before they become warriors, they climb up a second time. Finally, cats who become elders make their final ascent to look upon themselves once more."

After a moment of silence, Farseer touched Nightpaw's shoulder lightly with the tip of his tail. "Tell me young apprentice. What do you see?"

Startled, Nightpaw glanced again. "I see a young she-cat who's lost… a long way from home."

A lump formed in her throat. Grassblade, her mentor, would be hunting high and low throughout the territory. Possibly staring down the long dusty road that Nightpaw had fled along; fleeing before the hot, rancid breath and pounding paws of the fox pup that had chased her so relentlessly. Her mother had died shortly after Nightpaw and her sister Littlepaw were apprenticed. The clan had suspected that one of the foxes had done it. Her father, Sparkfire, spent his time with his daughters only to flatly comment on their training and the mistakes they made. Grassblade had nearly clawed his face off when he criticized her apprentice one too many times in her earshot.

"What else do you see?" Farseer murmured.

"I see…" Nightpaw gasped and blinked as her reflection seemed to waver.

When her vision cleared she saw a proud, beautiful she-cat with a sleek black pelt and golden eyes that seemed at once fierce, gentle, and humorous.

"I see a warrior." Nightpaw breathed, almost afraid to break the spell, "She's so many things I'm not." The reflected warrior gazed back into Nightpaw's eyes, a wealth of knowledge and understanding pouring through her gaze.

Delicately, but with a hunger she couldn't name, Nightpaw touched the mirror with her small paw. The warrior reached forward and touched the glass with her own. For just an instant the two seemed to reach across the divide and brushed against one another with the lightest of paw touches. Then the warrior vanished and Nightpaw gasped at the sudden loss, looking around frantically to see where the warrior cat had gone.

But the spell was broken. The rosy light outside the twoleg nest was starting to turn from rosy to the bright yellow of sunlight, and weariness dragged at the apprentice like mud after a heavy rain.

As she lay down next to Patches, she wondered if she could possibly walk in the pawprints of that beautiful glimpse of her own future. It seemed impossible.


	3. Chapter 3

Patches stirred reluctantly as he sensed the cool onset of night sliding in to fill the Starclan camp. He had forgotten how nice it was to sleep with the brush of fur just a paw's width away. But so too had he forgotten how… crowded it was. Living as a loner had taught him some independence; and though he hadn't shown it, his fur had prickled in the presence of all these cats.

It was with a private sense of relief that the two cats were escorted through the twoleg place to the end of Starclan territory.

"Your road begins here." Farseer said quietly, "Keep always those hills before you." He gestured with his tail toward the haze in the distance that could have been hills… or a green smudge on the horizon. "And Patches…" Patches moved aside to hear Farseer's murmured words, "…until you rejoin Nightpaw's clan, she will need a mentor to teach her how to fight. The road will be difficult and dangerous. Teach her your ways, but also teach her to have fun. Never have I seen a young cat so solemn."

Patches dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Travel well you two." Skygaze padded up to Patches and Nightpaw, dropping two packets of herbs at their feet. "These should help you on your way."

Patches turned to explain their purpose to Nightpaw, but found she was already gulping them down with a familiar grimace at their taste.

Several Starclan cats were grouped behind their leader and Watcher, and more than one yowled wishes of luck to the retreating figures.

The end of the twoleg pace was fairly near, but Patches had one side trip to make. He recognized this area and was pretty sure he could find what he was looking for. Nightpaw asked no questions when he abruptly ducked beneath a wooden fence and into a yard. It was well lit from bright, unnatural lights strung about the yard, making shadows hard edged and eerie.

Her expression however, became utterly confused when he raced forward and leaped at top speed onto a strange twoleg thing standing on metal legs and covered over with some silky black twoleg stuff.

"Hey Nightpaw!" he called, peering over the edge. "Come up here for a moment!" His whiskers were twitching and for a moment, the apprentice could have sworn the cool, powerful tom was on the edge of… laughter.

Nightpaw shrugged to herself and took a flying leap to the top of the twoleg thing, scowling as her paws slid along the smooth stuff as easily as ice. Unlike ice, however, it was not cold, and gave gently under her paws before resisting enough to support her weight.

Patches leaped forward and landed hard with all four paws planted right in the middle of the stretchy stuff. Immediately the stretchy stuff bucked hard and the large tom was launched straight into the air; higher than any cat could leap. He tumbled, twisted, and landed on all four paws again, only to be thrown upward again. With a yowl of delight he landed and leaped again.

Nightpaw watched him with wide, disbelieving eyes until he landed with his paws slightly splayed and he bounced gently to a stop.

"You try it," he encouraged, his eyes glowing. "Act like you're going to pounce and pin the biggest, fattest prey you've ever caught in your life. Use your legs like springs when you come down and push off immediately when you land."

Nightpaw leaped hard and gasped as she was thrown skyward. Bracing herself of a heavy landing, she got her legs beneath and tried to cushion it. But instead of landing hard, the stretchy material bowed beneath her paws before springing back up, tossing her into the air again. She was bounced into the air several times before she managed to figure out how to land.

Patches purred a low chuckle as she crouched, legs splayed, eyes wide, panting for breath. "Oh come on, it's not that scary. I would think a tough young clan cat like you would know how to enjoy something like this."

So saying he spread his toes and raced across the stretchy surface, spinning on his hind legs to race back across in the other direction. The springy material made the heavy tom seem weightless as he bounded along.

Nightpaw felt a pang, thinking of the swift Windclan cats back around the lake. Patches' carefree racing about reminded her of them strongly. She was quickly jarred out of her homesickness as Patches hit the edge yet again, spun about, and leaped forward to land right next to her on the bouncy material. The resulting recoil sent them both into the air.

She swatted at him with a paw and gave an undignified squeak as the movement spun her around in the air. By the time she oriented, she was bouncing up into the air again. The next bounce carried her lighter form right over Patches' back! Narrowing her eyes in delight she bounced harder on her landings, sailing back and forth over and under the tom. Once she got the hang of it, she occasionally swatted him with a paw and bounced away again before he could retaliate.

One cuff of Patches' large paws was enough to unbalance her and force her to stabilize before she landed, else risk getting the wind knocked out of her should she land on her belly or back on the stretchy stuff. But where he was stronger, she was quicker, and soon nearly mastered a swift poke in his side or belly as she sailed past.

"What is this thing?" Nightpaw finally asked has they stopped leaping about like overexcited kits.

"Some twoleg play thing." Patches said, shrugging and pawing absently at the bouncy surface.

"Don't they mind strange cats messing about with it?"

"By all appearances, no." The black and white Loner nodded toward the twoleg nest.

A twoleg was standing near one of the holes in the side of the nest, watching them. It was making no aggressive moves toward the two cats, and after a moment, Nightpaw began to suspect that the twoleg was being careful _not_ to make any moves that might startle the two cats. It held a strange gray box in its large paws and was aiming it at the two cats. A little light blinked on it, but the box wasn't doing much more than the twoleg itself.

"The twoleg is being entertained by watching us?" Nightpaw asked incredulously as Patches bounced gently on the way to the edge of the twoleg thing.

"Every twoleg that owns one of those things seems to enjoy bouncing on it as much as it enjoys watching _other_ creatures bouncing on it." Patches leaped down, grunting faintly as he handed on the solid ground. "Kittypets, dogs, foxes, prey. If it bounces, it's entertainment."

"Weird." Was all she could say as she followed the Loner back out onto the hard paths traveling through the twoleg place.

Outside the yard the light and shadows eased back to levels that were more comfortable for their night adjusted eyes. Occasionally a strange cat would hiss at them in passing, usually protecting food with jealous greed.

"This is it." Patches said softly, stopping abruptly.

Nightpaw looked ahead and gulped. The hard thunderpath abruptly ended at several tall poles made out of the same hard material that the tallest of the twoleg nests had been made from. They were bunched close enough together that most monsters wouldn't be able to squeeze through. Beyond stretched a long disused twoleg path with a green smudge still distant marking the hills. There was nothing but open field and a few scattered stands of trees. A breeze blew, stirring the grass and making it ripple like the surface of the lake back home. Another pang of homesickness struck Nightpaw's heart like a thorn as the breeze carried the scent of sun warmed plants, trickling water and clean air in the rapidly cooling wind. Suddenly that open space didn't look spooky anymore.

As if tugged forward, Nightpaw stepped past the monster barrier and started walking, her eyes fixed on the distant bump. She was only half aware of Patches' silently padding paws just a little behind her.

"I can't believe you made it all this way alone," Patches offered some time later. "It will take at least a couple of days of travel before we can get to those bumps of green. And who can say whether they actually mark the edge of your territory?"

Nightpaw flinched. "I'm pretty sure they do," she said, forcing her voice to remain hearty despite the feeling that a ball of ice had formed in her stomach. "Anyway, I'm not entirely sure I remember all of it. I ran for a long time. And the longer I ran, the less sure was that I would ever find anyone to help me. I know how to hunt in my clan's territory, but out here is much harder when you're terrified of jaws snapping at your heels…" she shook her head as though shaking off a fly and added, "…and the twoleg place is just so different…"

Patches said nothing to squelch her forced optimism, offering instead, "We have plenty of time to hunt along the way. You're no longer in a headlong flight, so we can avoid having to rush on. I think it's a good idea to teach you how to fight too. Not every fight will be with a single enemy."

"I know how to fight!" Nightpaw snapped, nettled, "Grassblade said it was nearly time for my assessment to be a warrior."

"I never said you couldn't fight," Patches rumbled gently, "nor was I insulting your mentor. But not every cat fights like a clan cat. And there are several very cruel tricks that could catch you by surprise. If you don't know how to beat them, a Rogue could win."

Nightpaw's anger vanished like the sun behind a cloud and her tail drooped unhappily. "I've heard stories about how Rogues fight. If you're willing to teach me, I'm willing to learn."

As the moon drifted slowly to the highest point in the sky, Nightpaw seemed to be losing the support of the herbs, and Patches was starting to feel the beginning pangs of real hunger as well. He called a stop near a small stream that seemed to be running parallel to the path.

Most prey seemed to be sleeping but he eventually came back with a mouse that had been up to some late night foraging. To his surprise, Nightpaw seemed to have been successful as well. A fat frog lay at her paws and she looked quite proud of herself.

With a mental shrug, Patches accepted the taste she offered him. Used to scrounging for food, the Loner was not finicky when it came to prey; so long as it was fresh of course. He had to admit, even though the flesh was cooler than he generally liked, it didn't taste bad.

They stopped early that night, and with a gleam in his yellow eyes, growled "All right 'apprentice' show me what you've got!"

Nightpaw glanced at him, started, and then dropped into a crouch with an eager hiss. It was time to learn how to fight.


	4. Chapter 4

Shedding the deadly dog's teeth, Patches put Nightpaw through her paces and had to admit, her fighting techniques were good. Basic and a few advanced moves; her form was nearly perfect. Her clan had different techniques than Starclan's and she proved to be both swift and wily. She tumbled him over more than once, despite being built much more lightly than he was.

"Excellent." Patches approved, and her eyes glowed as she sat back. "Now, I'm going to show you some moves the clans do _not_ teach their warriors."

So saying, he lunged forward and wrapped both of his powerful forelegs around her smaller neck and dug his claws lightly into her scruff.

Nightpaw gasped, feeling sharp claws jabbing from behind and realizing that her face was directly exposed to his powerful jaws in front. For an instant, she panicked. Jerking back she was promptly arrested by the claws. She clawed at him with her front paws but only got fur as the thick fur on his chest acted as a buffer against her frantic scrabbling. Wriggling, she managed to twist around, only to have her vulnerable throat pressed tightly against the deadly points and leaving her scruff exposed to his jaws, where he could bite and hold.

"Nightpaw, Nightpaw stop."

The apprentice hesitated, pupils dilated in alarm.

"Turn around."

Legs trembling she wriggled again and turned back to face the powerful tom.

Yellow eyes locked with hers, calm and steady. "Nightpaw, this is an advanced move. I do not expect you to master it between one heartbeat and the next. Take a deep breath and let it out. Now _listen to me._ "

She closed her eyes, dragged in a deep, ragged breath, and let it out slowly. When her eyes opened again, she felt calmer.

"This is called the Suffocate Hold. Because I can do this." Patches large jaws gaped wide and clamped lightly onto Nightpaw's muzzle, trapping her nose and jaws in an airless mouth. He held only for a single heartbeat and quickly let go, allowing her breathing to resume with only a light hitch.

Her expression was both awed and frightened.

"Good, you understand. Now I will show you how to escape it. When you are grabbed, duck low. Lower. Lower. Now thrust your head down and under my front legs so you slip out to the side." Patches' front paws thudded down onto the ground as Nightpaw ducked the grip and slipped to the side. With a hiss she raked her claws down his unprotected side, careful only to rake fur.

"Very good. Again. Only this time, be quick."

They practiced the move over and over as the sky slowly began to lighten. By the time Patches called a stop for the day, she was well on her way to being skilled in ducking the Loner's paws. She practiced also the grip technique he showed her.

"It calls for balance and leverage, not strength." He advised, as she stumbled through the first few grabs. "Plant your hind legs flat as though you are sitting. Now wrap your front legs as far about my neck as you can and grab my muzzle in your mouth."

Patches' muzzle was too wide, and Nightpaw's mouth too small for a proper hold, but she found a good mock chomp to the end of his muzzle proved that any cat's nose was sensitive to needle sharp teeth.

"You're small now, but you will grow." He assured her gently when her jaws slipped yet again from their hold.

They made nests under a bush as the sky began to lighten and drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

The day was at its warmest, drowsiest time when the bush exploded inward. Foul breath slammed straight into Patches' irate face as massive jaws filled with horribly familiar looking teeth thrust into their nest.

Nightpaw gave a shriek of terror as the jaws clamped down on her neck and dragged her bodily out into the open.

"Let go of her!" Patches thundered, and shot out of the nest almost before he was aware he was on his paws.

Out in the open, his heart sank to the pads of his paws. A massive black dog had Nightpaw by the scruff of her neck and carried her into a patch of trampled grass. With a loud snort, it plopped the frantic apprentice down and pinned her beneath wide black paws.

Cursing his ill luck, Patches realized that the deadly dog’s teeth were only effective if he could get close to the monstrous beast.

Nightpaw writhed like an eel, twisting this way and that with a flexibility that Patches admired, even as the massive dog easily scooped up the apprentice and pinned her again and again. Growling, the fur along his spine lifting almost of its own accord, Patches charged the dog's face. If he went for the eyes…

With a 'snorf' sound, the dog thrust a sweeping paw out and bowled the large tom off his feet. He was on his feet in an instant and charging again. This time the dog's jaws plunged down, snatched up Nightpaw, and sprinted away across the field; it's long, stiff tail held high like a flag.

_What is it doing?_ Patches thought in dismay. _Does it think Nightpaw is a play thing to play 'keep away' with? I can't lose them!_

Dismay sang through Patches' whole body as the long legged beast easily left the powerful tom behind. In a fight, Patches could beat any cat… and a number of dogs, on his own. But his solid, stocky body was not made for headlong flight.

Nightpaw's cries faded into the distance and the gasping tom was forced to slow to a walk. A broad trail reeking of dog made an easily followed path through the grass that waved high over the Loner's head.

_Clan of the Skies, keep Nightpaw safe,_ he silently begged, even as he got the sinking feeling that they were beyond the reach of the warrior ancestors. _Starclan, Clan of Nightpaw's Ancestors, look out for her, please!_ Patches wasn't finicky when it came to asking someone to keep the apprentice safe.

He was deep in the field now, and the only feature besides the hills in the distance was a sleeping monster looming not too far away. An indignant complaint made the Loner's ears snap to attention. Cautiously he crept forward and peered around a bend in the trail of smashed foliage. The massive dog was laying down in another circle of trampled grass with Nightpaw between its large paws.

Nightpaw complained again, not in terror or pain but in disgust, as a massive sloppy pink tongue snaked out and lapped the apprentice's fur the wrong direction. Her fur all but dripped with the dog's drool and had been stirred into drooping spikes by its tongue.

Caught between a purr of amusement and a mew of sympathetic disgust, Patches struggled to come up with a plan. If he charged, the dog would only snatch Nightpaw up and bolt away again. Maybe if he…

Patches stifled a gasp as a tall Twoleg tromped through the grass less than a foxlength away. The massive head lifted and the tail beat a rhythmic tattoo in the grass as the Twoleg made an inquiring noise at it. The inquisitive sounds turned to amusement as it scooped Nightpaw away from the dog, which whined a protest.

"She's with me!" Patches meowed loudly, striding into full view. "Let her go!"

The dog made another 'snorf' noise and got between the Twoleg and the Loner, growling in unmistakable menace at him. He lay his ears back and hissed in fury, flexing his claws and feeling the teeth bite hard into the soft soil. Nightpaw wriggled and stretched her neck toward Patches, not bothering to disguise the relief in her eyes. Uttering a plaintive mew at the Twoleg, she stretched a paw toward the big tom, who mewed back, wracking his brain for memories long past. He edged closer, calling plaintively, keeping a wary eye on the dog.

The Twoleg, strange creature though it was, seemed to understand. A firm command soon had the dog shut up inside the monster. Gently it lowered Nightpaw to the ground and Patches enthusiastically bumped against its paws, receiving a vigorous scratching along his spine.

"Yuck! I'm going to smell of dog and Twolegs for moons!" Nightpaw complained, rolling in the damp grass as the monster grumbled away. Then she paused and stared suspiciously at him. "Patches, you seemed to be able to communicate with that Twoleg quite well."

He flicked an ear in acknowledgement, "I should certainly hope so. I was a kittypet once."

Nightpaw froze in mid-roll and stared at him.

"I told you what Twolegs called my kind," he said mildly, glancing down his back toward his tail-less flank. "I am a Manx, a kind of cat rather popular among some Twolegs. Are you really that surprised?"

"I guess not." Nightpaw sat up and began to wash, grimacing in disgust at the taste. "It just never really registered. How long?"

"Nearly six moons. Then my Twolegs moved and left me. I stumbled into Starclan territory searching for food and they welcomed me. I trained with them for a further six moons before the prophecy sent me out to be a loner. I was a Loner for three moons before I found you."

"So… you would be a warrior by now." Nightpaw seemed to be doing some hard thinking.

"Most likely." Patches shrugged absently.

"You've had a full life. Do you know what the next step is? You've been a Kittypet, a Clan cat, and a Loner."

"Clan leader probably," Patches' whiskers twitched at the thought. Leading cats was an amusing thought but hardly something he wanted. The ambition just wasn't there.

"Maybe we should turn our hours around," Nightpaw said, changing the subject. "I don't think dogs would be as dangerous if we were awake during the day." She hesitated then mewed, "I don't want to be startled awake like that ever again."

"Neither do I." Patches admitted. "Let's hunt something and see how much farther we can travel today."

_If there's one good thing about that dog,_ Patches thought as evening training rolled around, _it's that we're much closer to our goal._

Indeed, after looking around, the Loner realized they were among the low hills that had been so distant yesterday. Even better, there had been no sight of Twolegs or dogs or even monsters since their encounter.

Nightpaw was eager to practice, though her limbs felt heavy from the day's exertions. Patches too, seemed a bit slower; which served the apprentice well. The fourth or fifth time she escaped his grasp and thumped the air out of his lungs in a counter attack, he called a stop.

"I can't wait to see you show your skills off to your clan," he wheezed, feeling his ribs throb gently from the pummeling her paws had given him.

Pride shone in Nightpaw's eyes and she stood a little straighter. "Do you think so? Do you think I can be a warrior soon?"

The pride and hope in the young cat's gaze made Patches' heart almost ache with pride himself. _Is this what it's like to have an apprentice?_ He wondered, _Is her mentor aching every day at the loss of such a bright young cat?_

"I would think so," he rumbled out loud, "I cannot speak for your Clan Leader, but he would be a flea brain not to welcome you as a loyal clan mate."

Weary after the long hard run that day, Patches looked about for a place to rest. A shadow stirred and caught his eye. Something long legged with a bushy tail almost oozed out of the shadows. The overwhelming scent of herbs flooded his nose, but it was the color of the creature's pelt that filled his gaze. It was a rusty red. A fox.

_Russet red spills blood, and an ancient hate is washed away_.

_Russet red._

Energy seemed to flow into Patches' limbs and, eyes gleaming, he began to stalk the creature. It was large, but if he caught it by surprise…

"Patches! No!" Nightpaw hissed as loudly as she dared and tackled the tom, pressing him flat as those blazing eyes swept the tall grass, searching for the source of the rustle.

"Patches, please listen to me! There's more than one!"

The Loner froze in mid struggle, staring. The scent of herbs was even stronger now. The bigger one threw back her head and uttered a loud gleeful bark. A second fox oozed out of the shadows to join the first.

"Foxes don't hunt in packs." Patches whispered incredulously, starring in horror at the undeniable proof before him.

"These do." There was a forest of bitterness in Nightpaw's voice. "There were four of them when I left. They roll in Medicine Cat herbs to hide their scent and try to kill every cat they come across."

The vixen threw back her head and uttered a series of maliciously gleeful barks. The young dog fox answered her, and the two moved off. The racket they made was sure to drive prey deep into their holes for the entire night.

Wearily, Patches began to look for a place to sleep.

"Where are you going?" Fear made Nightpaw's voice shrill.

"Looking for some shelter. We can't go wandering about looking for your clan with those foxes on the loose." Patches tipped his head slightly at the sight of the serious young cat crouched, trembling in the shadows.

"But the foxes _went_ that way." She protested, staring down the dirt path as though expecting a fox to come bursting around the bend.

"Yes they did. Which means they've already been this way and won't be coming back." Patches padded back and gave the apprentice a few soothing licks behind her ears.

Gently, he herded her along the path until they came to the shelter of a low Twoleg bridge. Her eyes were wide and haunted and she started every time she heard a bark.

Patches couldn't blame her. Seeing only two of the supposed four foxes put him on edge as well. Where were the other two? Lurking about out of sight?

Sleep came slowly to Nightpaw and even with her tail over her ears to muffle the sound; she slept fitfully. For the first time the Loner wished he had a tail to add over the apprentice's ears.

As he sank into a light sleep, the deadly teeth seemed to throb in his paws.

_Soon,_ they seemed to whisper, _Soon we will taste blood again._

_Yes. Soon_. Patches thought back. _Soon you will be cleansed and I will be free of you._


	5. Chapter 5

The two cats finally relaxed after the dawn broke over the forest and the incessant yapping faded to silence. After the miserable night, Patches was in no hurry to trek through the territory of an unknown clan without his senses fully alert. A sleepy glance showed that Nightpaw had finally sunk into proper sleep as well. If it hadn't been the barking, it had been the young cat's panicked jerks in response, which jostled the Loner awake anyway. Now her muzzle was pressed against his side, eyes shut tightly as she slowly sank into a deep sleep. It would be a cat with a harder heart than Patches to demand she get to her paws now. He drooped his chin onto his front paws and joined her in a few blessed hours of sleep.

The yowling of many angry cats woke them after Sunhigh, rapidly drawing closer.

_It is time_ ; Patches knew.

Nightpaw watched with wide eyes as the powerful tom slid out of the shadows.

The fox was several lengths ahead of its pursuers as it threw a look behind it, mouth open in a jeering smile as it realized it was escaping.

"No!" squalled a cat.

Perhaps it was because the fox looked back for a heartbeat too long. Perhaps it was the unnatural pattern of light and shadows beneath the bridge that allowed Patches to flow into the open unseen. Whatever the reason, the fox never had a chance.

The fox glanced forward, and its eyes bulged almost comically as Patches leaped forward with a powerful thrust of his hind paws.

Deadly dog teeth sliced through the fox's neck like claws through mud and the fox collapsed, twitching as its lifeblood flowed out.

The strange cats skidded to a stop and mewed uneasily, milling about and staring at Patches' paws. His gaze never left them as he flicked his paw as though shaking off water and washed it clean with absent rasps of his tongue. Cats gasped and actually retreated a few steps, apparently spotting the terrible things that had finally gone silent; no longer throbbing with that terrible bloodlust.

"So," he said, as casually as though he had been in a friendly conversation that had been briefly interrupted, "Which of you wild cats wants to tell me where Shadowclan is?"

"Who wants to know?" demanded a warrior.

Patches' calm, penetrating gaze settled on him and did not waver. "My name is Patches. And I've come to return a… valuable… that seems to have gotten lost."

Nightpaw clambered out from under the bridge, no longer held back by the fear of her tormentor and padded up to Patches' side.

Patches turned to her. "Do you trust these cats?"

"Yes." Her gaze flicked over several Shadowclan cats.

"With your life?"

"Yes."

"Nightpaw!" the first cat to speak gasped, stepping forward, his gaze locked on the apprentice. "You're alive!"

"Hello father," she mewed.

_She doesn't sound all that enthusiastic about him. Still…_ Patches' long whiskers twitched slightly. "Good enough for me then."

A more foolish cat would have kept the teeth; lured into their deadly mocking thirst for blood and power. But Patches was not that cat. With a flick of his paws, the dog’s teeth flew free from his claws. Turning over and over, they soared right over the edge of the bridge and landed with soft plops into the stream; washed away by the flowing water.

Then, remembering his manners, he dipped his head politely to both groups of cats. "We have traveled far. I would like to accompany Nightpaw to the Shadowclan camp and see that she is properly settled in before I leave."

There was a long silence, and then a tom slowly dipped his head at Patches. "I am Shadowstep, Deputy of Shadowclan. Come and be welcome in Shadowclan camp."

"Shadowstep!" hissed a cat softly, "He used _dog's teeth_!"

Patches twitched his ears but said nothing, his gaze level with Shadowstep's.

"And threw them away. He is not a Bloodclan cat." Shadowstep continued to hold Patches' eyes for a heartbeat longer and then he drew the Shadowclan cats around her with a wave of his tail.

Shadowstep paused and regarded the group of still stunned cats, "I don't suppose you cats need an escort to _return to your territory_?" He rumbled, a hint of threat in his voice.

One or two warriors jumped slightly, as though startled out of their reveries.

"Of… of course not." A warrior shook off as though scattering raindrops from his fur. "Come on," he mewed loudly, and several more cats rose jerkily back to their paws. "let's report to Earthstar."

Patches was well aware of the half hostile, half fearful glances the cats sent his way. Only Nightpaw, treading by his side and Shadowstep, padding ahead showed no discomfort in his presence. Away from the overwhelming scent of herbs, Patches got his first true whiff of Shadowclan.

It was sharp and clean, the scent of pine sap mingling in with various low growing plants and a mildly sour smell that Patches recognized from Twoleg dumpsters. He suspected that there was a place somewhere in the territory where Twolegs left their garbage to fester in the sun.

The camp was nearly invisible until they were right up on it. Protected by brambles and low hanging tree branches, he didn't realize how many cats were around until they streamed through brambles and found themselves in an open space, with cats slinking out of dens all around.

A lean black tom with chocolate tips stalked out of a den and stared straight at Patches. "Shadowstep, what is the meaning of this?"

"This is Patches. He killed the last fox. By himself." He added, as though to make sure they knew how impressive this stranger was.

"Interesting. How?"

"I'll tell you how!" Nightpaw's father, Sparkfire, snarled. "He used dog's teeth!" he meowed clearly, and every cat gasped in horror and backed away.

"We don't want any Bloodclan cats!" yowled a white she-cat with blue eyes.

"I am not a Bloodclan cat." Patches voice was perfectly calm. "I am a Loner from the twoleg place, and before that I was a member of a peaceful clan of cats. The teeth I used to slay the fox were left over from many moons ago. I cleansed them and threw them away."

"A peaceful clan of cats!" Sparkfire jeered, "So you don't even know how to fight?"

"Are you asking for a demonstration?" Patches asked smoothly, "I will fight any cat who wishes to face me."

Several cats clamored eagerly for the right to face the calm Loner.

Darkstar raised his tail for silence. "Sparkfire, since you are so utterly convinced that this Loner cannot fight; I will allow you to face him. Alone." He added sharply at the mutinous muttering of his clan. "Any cat who interferes will spend a moon doing apprentice duties in the camp. No hunting. No patrolling. You will clean nests and take over the elder duties. If you finish those early, I'm certain Shadowstep can find you more chores to complete."

The cats went silent, staring wide eyed at their leader's warning. Room was made in the very center of the camp, as elders and even kits crept out to watch.

Sparkfire hissed mockingly at the loner, who blinked nonchalantly back and flicked an ear.

"Is this all you can do?" the tom jeered "Blink and waggle your ears. I bet you purr for Twolegs and dance tricks for your supper as well. Do you roll over and let them scratch the soft parts of your belly too?"

Patches didn't even blink.

"Mew kittypet. Mew for your supper." Sparkfire flicked a paw out and Patches leaned back ever so slightly, letting the Warrior's claws rake through the fur of his cheek without marring his skin.

"What's wrong? Did that hurt? Are you afraid of me?" he was edging closer and closer. A few taunts more perhaps, and he would be just where Patches wanted him.

The Loner kept his cool.

"Come on! Don't sit there like a lump! Fight me!" Sparkfire stood right in front of Patches now, rearing up to deliver an Upright Lock.

_Now!_

Patches lunged forward, slamming his broad shoulders into the warrior's exposed belly. Sparkfire's breath whooshed out with a 'whuff' sound as the heavier tom drove him clean off his paws. Scrambling and flailing, Sparkfire tried to regain his footing while trying to regain his breath at the same time. Patches did not give him that luxury.

Seizing Sparkfire by the scruff, he shook the warrior until he was too rattled to fight back and thrust him down against the ground, skittering back as flailing claws scored on his cheek and shoulder.

Wheezing, the Shadowclan cat tottered to his feet and bared his teeth with an infuriated snarl. He was winded, Patches knew, and dizzy. He had a few precious seconds to decide on a finishing move against the warrior. Perhaps it was time to show them the Suffocate hold.

Patches circled and when his opponent charged, Patches had him. Two powerful forelegs snaked around the other tom's neck, digging claws into his scruff. As the startled cat struggled, Patches gaped his jaws and clamped down on the tom's muzzle.

Paws beat frantically on Patches' head, chest and shoulders as Sparkfire struggled in vain to break free. Instead Patches leaned forward, bringing his full weight down upon the warrior and slowly driving him to the ground. The struggles turned frantic, and then began to weaken as he eased his opponent almost gently onto his side. Counting heartbeats silently in his head, Patches let go well before the tom would have suffocated.

The frantic gasp of air exploded into the shocked silence as the clan watched.

"If I were a kittypet, I would not have known that trick. If I were Bloodclan, you would not have survived this fight. I was a Clan cat before I was a loner, and I do not need to kill my opponent in order to secure a win. Understand this, and you will realize I am not any weaker than a Shadowclan cat born, raised, and trained." Patches waited a few seconds to make sure his words had sunk home and then calmly backed away and began to wash a paw, trying to ignore the sting of his scratches from the fight.

Sparkfire lurched to his paws, eyes blazing in fury.

"Enough." Darkstar intervened calmly. "Patches is it?" at his nod the Clan leader continued. "Patches has proven himself to be equal to any of our warriors. He is welcome to remain in Shadowclan for as long as he wishes."

As the cats broke up, Patches glanced around, trying to familiarize himself with the layout. To his surprise, a grayish brown she-cat with leaf green eyes was speaking in low tones to Nightpaw, surprise and pride in her eyes as Nightpaw recounted her adventures.

Looking up, the she-cat spotted the Manx and padded over, her gaze friendly. "Nightpaw tells me you have taught her some of your unique moves and that you saved her from three Rogues. I am Grassblade, Nightpaw's mentor."

Patches dipped his head respectfully, "So you are the infamous mentor." His whiskers twitched. "Your apprentice defends your honor and skill quite fiercely. In turn, she is a credit to you. She has bowled me over more than once when I thought I had her beaten."

"We are going on a border patrol soon," Grassblade offered, "If you came with us, we could show you the territory."

Patches nodded and the warrior padded away to stir up a few more cats.


	6. Chapter 6

Shadowclan was like, and yet unlike Starclan. For one thing only their Medicine Cats spoke to their warrior ancestors; apart from their clan and far more rarely. For another, they were fiercer; quicker tempered and far less accepting of other cats that entered their territory. They were also more independent. Patches felt less crowded in this clan than he had among the cats of Starclan.

Sparkfire never forgave Patches for winning the fight, and several times the Loner spotted the warrior glowering menacingly at him from across the camp. Darkstar too kept an unobtrusive eye on him, which Patches didn't mind so much. It was a leader's duty to observe and consider whether or not a stranger should be trusted. Grassblade, however, welcomed Patches warmly and Nightpaw seemed to think of the Manx as a second mentor. Other cats viewed him with mixed feelings.

Now the kits… ahhh the kits. Patches loved kits in Starclan, and the Shadowclan kits were just as enthusiastic about Patches.

It didn't take long for Burnkit, the most playful of them, to pounce on Patches from behind. Heavykit tackled him from the side and the two of them bowled the tom over. Heavykit squealed as Patches caught her and thrust his cold nose against her soft belly. Spinning around, he nearly got Burnkit as well. But she gasped, skittered sideways, and tripped over a pebble. Tumbling clear she stared with wide eyes as Patches' paws thumped the earth a whisker length away.

"Hey, that was a good move!" Patches approved.

"Aw I just tr- wait it was?" Burnkit's tail shot up in excitement.

Patches nodded in approval, "I bet if you practiced, you could be so quick you could be on your paws and pouncing on me before I could recover from missing you."

With an excited gasp the kits raced off to practice their moves, leaving Patches to purr in gentle amusement in their already forgotten wake.

"You sure seem to love kits," Nightpaw observed as she padded up to Patches side.

"Mmm. There's just something special about playing with them." He purred with a wink. "Perhaps you and Grassblade should try practicing those moves as well."

"I have more important things to do." She protested. "Ugh, speaking of which, I have to go. Whispersong has been complaining about ticks." Tail low, she turned toward the Medicine cat den and padded inside.

Grassblade sighed in Patches' ear, "I do wish she would learn to play more. I heard you taught her some on the way here. It's her father's fault. He thinks the only good warrior is a fighting warrior."

He closed his eyes briefly and stifled a sigh of his own, "You are her mentor though. You are tasked to teach her things. You have the authority to press a few lessons of play into her skull."

Grassblade tilted her head and gazed at him with deeply thoughtful eyes. "You know what… I think you're right. Come with me. Teach me a few of your games. If you can show me some of your fighting moves as well, I can teach them to her. I know where we can practice uninterrupted."

Feeling a stare searing into his back, Patches turned to find a pure white she cat with ice blue eyes staring at him. A faint shiver raced up his spine. Silentdeath was an enigma, and something about her made his pelt crawl. Her name was cruel in his eyes, and he wondered just how true to her name she was. She rarely spoke, though she certainly could, and the way she ghosted through the territory gave her an advantage over other cats. Her eyes narrowed fractionally as his gaze met hers, but instead of speaking or approaching, she turned away, flicking her tail dismissively as she padded toward Sparkfire.

"Bad luck," Grassblade's voice made Patches twitch slightly; he'd forgotten she was still there. "Silentdeath and Sparkfire are a pair that should never get together. Silentdeath has no heart for cats outside of Shadowclan, and Sparkfire likes nothing more than a fight. Watch your back Patches." Her eyes were concerned. "Come on. I think it's more important than ever that you show me your moves. You need some cats that will stand by you, and who better than a warrior and her apprentice?"

A yowling down the path stopped any thanks Patches could have said and the two hastily stepped aside as Tabbypath raced past them, legs stretched out as though all of Windclan were at his heels.

"Briarrose!" He yowled, shooting through the entrance to the camp, "Briarrose! Briarrose!"

Patches and Grassblade shared a look of alarm and squeezed back into the camp behind the frantic warrior.

"I'm here." The ginger Medicine Cat was bounding across the center of the camp. "What's wrong?"

"It's Silverleopard! She's…" He gulped a deep breath of air, "…she's collapsed! She was complaining about her belly and then she just started vomiting."

Briarrose's eyes snapped with green fire. "Snowpaw!" she snapped, "Get me a packet of juniper berries." As the Medicine Cat apprentice vanished into the den, her eyes swept the circle of concerned onlookers until they rested on Patches and Grassblade. "You two," she ordered, "come with us."

As the cats raced behind Tabbypath, Patches realized they were nearing the twoleg path that divided Shadowclan from Thunderclan territory.

"Stay still!" A strange voice ordered, "You're making it worse by thrashing around like a fox in a fit."

The patrol came upon a scene that made them pause. A beautiful brindled she-cat was trying to hold Silverleopard down as her sides heaved and her body shook with uncontrolled spasms. The scent of Thunderclan hung heavy in the air.

"What are you doing here, Fernmask?" Grassblade growled warningly.

"I-I heard a cat wailing. I thought the foxes… and… and I found..." the Thunderclan warrior's eyes were wide and earnest; Silverleopard spasmed again, much weaker than before. A dry retching sound burbled up from her gaping mouth, but there was nothing but a dribble of slimy mucus coming up.

"Stand aside," Briarrose growled, though more gruff than threatening, "we'll take it from here."

Tabbypath licked Silverleopard behind the ears frantically, as though the simple act of licking could cure her.

Patches' whiskers twitched slightly, suspecting the reason why the two cats were off alone and not with a patrol. It was the middle of Newleaf after all. One look at the tom's antics only confirmed it.

Silverleopard was calming under Tabbypath's licking, though she still spasmed helplessly.

"Here," Briarrose meowed soothingly, "eat this." She popped a juniper berry into the stricken warrior's mouth. "it will soothe your stomach, ease your breathing, and give you strength."

Silverleopard gulped it down. There was a moment of silence, and then with a gasp she retched again, pieces of juniper berry coming along with what little was left in her belly.

Tabbypath made a frantic keen deep in his throat and resumed licking.

"Try again." Briarrose ordered, "try to hold it down."

By now Silverleopard couldn't lift her head, and she swallowed weakly. She made several aborted attempts to retch again, and then her breathing eased. Closing her mouth, she lay her head heavily on her paws and simply breathed, her eyes shut in weariness.

The cats gave a collective sigh of relief, and an embarrassed looking Fernmask backed up several steps, "Uh, I should probably…" she flicked her ears back toward the border of Thunderclan.

"Go," Tabbypath rumbled softly, "and… thanks…"

The brindle dipped her head slightly, as though understanding, and was back across the border in a few bounds.

"She's stable," Briarrose reported, "but very weak. Patches we need you to carry her, slowly, back to camp. Tabbypath, help him." The Medicine Cat delegated the tom to the task, understanding his desire to stay with the she-cat. "Grassblade, help Snowpaw gather anything soft you can collect for a nest. I know," she forestalled the warrior's protest, "that it's an apprentice's duty, but it will go much quicker with the two of you."

Grassblade nodded and the two cats vanished into the forest.

Patches grunted and firmly grasped the she-cat's scruff. It was a long, slow trip back. The distance was short, but Silverleopard's legs wouldn't support her; she was unable to help the toms on the trip back to camp. Several times Patches had to hastily put her down as her breathing grew labored and weak little whimpers wheezed out with every breath. Only a couple bounds from the camp entrance, Briarrose was forced to feed Silverleopard another berry and they all had to wait for her breathing to strengthen again. Grassblade and Snowpaw scrambled past twice on the trip, ferrying moss, dried grass, and leaves into camp. By the time they got to the Medicine Cat den, word had spread around camp and everyone hastily scattered as they passed through, allowing easy passage.

One warrior proudly followed them to the Medicine Cat's den, passing a freshly caught bird through the entrance.

"Feathers." Was his only explanation before he backed out again.

Once Silverleopard was settled, Briarrose drew them all out to the entrance. "Come on Tabbypath," she added, when the tom hesitated at leaving the she-cat's side. "we'll be right outside. We'll hear her if she needs help."

"I'll stay with her," Snowpaw promised, settling down next to the exhausted she-cat's nest. Quietly she began stripping the feathers from the freshkill and gently tucked them around the sleeping warrior.

As the four cats sat in a ring outside the den, Briarrose sat with her tail curled around her front paws. "Now, I won't ask why you two were out there by yourselves…" Tabbypath suddenly wouldn't meet her gaze, his eyes turning longingly instead to the entrance of the den behind her. "…but it's very important that you think about what happened while you were there. Did you eat anything? Drink anything? Brush against anything poisonous and then wash it off your pelt?"

Tabbypath's eyes looked haunted. "No. Nothing. We were… um, too interested in each other." Then his eyes widened in horror. "Oh no."

Briarrose stiffened. "What?"

"We met separately." Tabbypath's shoulders slumped miserably. "I was on patrol and Silverleopard was off on a hunting patrol. We agreed to meet afterward. I have no idea if she came upon anything between then and our meeting. We were only together for a few short moments before she began complaining of her belly. A moment after that she vomited. I tried to steer her back to camp, but she couldn't stop."

The tom was shaking all over. "What if the prey went bad? What if the water went bad? What if there's some plant that's-"

"Tabbypath calm down," the Medicine Cat ordered sternly, "We won't help the clan or Silverleopard if we panic over something that has no source yet."

For a long moment, she closed her eyes, thinking hard. Finally she shook her fur and opened her eyes again. Once more they burned with green fire. "I will stay here. I don't want to leave Silverleopard alone. Patches, I must ask you to accompany Tabbypath back along the routes you two took. Keep your eyes peeled and report straight back to me. I will tell Darkstar and Shadowstep where you are going. Ahhh, speak of the toms and they appear."

Patches stifled a sigh and padded behind the anxious warrior, who kept throwing longing glances back at the Medicine Cat's den. He didn't want to do more racing about in the territory. Then again… "Come on," he growled bracingly, “The sooner we find out what's making her sick, the sooner Briarrose can cure her."

Determination flooded the warrior's eyes and his claws sank into the soft, marshy ground as though ready to tear into an enemy. Brambles swished behind the two as they trotted out into the territory.

"I will destroy it." Tabbypath growled, "If I have to slay a monster myself, I will destroy it for hurting Silverleopard."


	7. Chapter 7

It didn’t take long for the two to find where Tabbypath and Silverleopard had met; their scent was strong in the secluded clearing. But overpowering even that was an overwhelming scent of sickness. A pool of strangely sweet smelling liquid showed where the she-cat had retched the first time. Patches recoiled from it, memories of his past coiling up in his mind like an adder preparing to strike.

_Something bad. Something really bad._

Even Tabbypath wrinkled his nose.

“I didn’t notice how weird it smelled before,” he admitted; “I was more worried about Silverleopard.”

The two ranged back and forth until they found the she-cat’s trail, which wound through the trees until it came near the twoleg nest situated in the middle of Shadowclan territory. Hunting tended to be good behind the nest, where the twolegs sometimes left bits of twoleg food scattered around after noisily and wastefully feeding themselves. Prey would gather to feed upon the leftover twoleg food, and a sly warrior could simply wait for the prey to come.

A monster crouched on the edge of the twoleg yard, silent and still. Silverleopard’s scent gave the twoleg territory a respectful birth and paw prints showed where she had paused at one of the pools of water that frequently gathered in Shadowclan territory.

“This is it.” Patches concluded, “She must have paused for a drink here before coming to meet you.”

“But why?” Tabbypath wanted to know, “Why didn’t she take the prey back to camp with the rest of her patrol?”

“A friend in the patrol perhaps?” Patches suggested, “A friend who wouldn’t mind carrying prey to camp as a favor so she could slip away earlier than usual?”

“Yeah… well…maybe.” Tabbybath looked embarrassed. “Ugh. Monsters. How could she drink anything near this thing?” He rubbed his paw across his nose in disgust.

Another smell assaulted Patches’ nose and he got a horrible sinking feeling.

“Patches? Patches!” Tabbypath looked horrified as Patches crouched low and slunk cautiously toward the ugly, blocky monster that slumbered next to the twoleg nest.

The smell only grew stronger as he got closer, until the big Manx crouched next to one of its large round paws. In horror, he watched a drip of something green and sweet smelling gather and then fall into a tiny stream of the stuff, which wended its way into the water abundant land beyond.

“Patches! Do you have bees in your brain? What if the monster wakes up?!” Tabbypath hissed in Patches’ ear, shooting fearful glances up at its gleaming eyes, expecting them to flare to brilliant life at any moment.

“It won’t. Not without a twoleg. Look.” He pointed with his ears at the stream of liquid.

“Is it wounded?” Tabbypath looked curious, “Is it monster blood?”

In horror, Patches nodded. _Monster blood. A sweet smell. A cat, retching uncontrollably, paws twitching helplessly. Skygaze’s eyes; horrified, powerless. Sorrow. The wail of a cat as the clan sat vigil._

“Hey, this smells good. Sweet, like those plants Thunderclan used on the foxes.” Tabbypath was under the monster now, tilting his head back to sniff at the slow drip.

“Don’t touch it!” Patches screeched, thrusting a paw forward and shoving Tabbypath’s nose back. A drip of the green liquid dropped down and landed on Patches’ outstretched paw.

“Hey what the-?” Tabbypath looked outraged, and then his eyes fell on the green drip that glistened enticingly on the white fur of Patches’ leg.

The sweet smell invaded Patches’ nose until his mouth watered for it, like the taste of honey.

“It touched _you_.” Tabbypath whispered in horror.

“I’ll be all right.” the Manx growled with more bravado than he felt, struggling against the urge to wash his paw off, “It’s only dangerous if you drink it. We lost a warrior in the clan I used to live with. She drank some. She died before the night was out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Oh.” A sick horror bled into Tabbypath’s eyes. “Oh!”

The Shadowclan warrior shot out from under the monster, racing along the trickle of deadly fluid until it joined with the sluggishly moving water that led…

“Right to where Silverleopard was drinking!” Tabbypath moaned. “Monster!” He screeched in sudden fury, and raced back under the sleeping beast. “I’ll kill you! You think you’re wounded now? I’ll rip out your insides until you die as horribly as Silverleopard!”

Sharp claws flashed as the angry warrior hooked some long, thin vines and yanked until they dragged on the ground. “I’ll make you scream and retch and...” His words were muffled as he climbed upward into the belly of the thing; metal screeching and the warrior’s snarling curses and death threats mingling. Patches listened in horrified fascination to the sound of breaking things within the monster’s unnatural pelt.

Finally there was silence within. After a long, long moment, Tabbypath squeezed back out the way he got in and dropped, panting, beneath the monster. He was grimy and smelled as foul as the monster, but the grim light in his eyes said that he was triumphant. “Silverleopard, I’ve avenged you,” he whispered, and then he slumped, eyes tightly closed.

“You know,” Patches offered tentatively, “the monster’s poisonous blood mixed with fresh, clean water. It just might have been enough to dilute it safely.”

“Don’t give me false hopes,” the warrior growled bitterly. “We need to get back. I want Silverleopard’s last moments to be spent with someone who loves her.”

“Not until you’re clean,” Patches instructed sternly. “You’re carrying the monster’s poison in your fur now. Do you want to go to an already weakened cat covered in the very stuff that’s hurting her?”

Tabbypath hissed, but Patches suspected it wasn’t really directed at him. The two cats made faces and muttered as they smeared mud into their fur and then rinsed out in one of the running streams, but after several treatments, Patches sniffed his spiky, wet fur and then Tabbypath’s own and after a tentative lick or two, declared their fur safely clean.

“I’ll taste like swamp mud for a moon.” Tabbypath groused.

“Yeah, well, at least it’s not poison.”

“I hope I killed it. I _really_ hope I killed it.”

Patches wished he had a tail to lay reassuringly across the warrior’s back, but made do with a friendly bump to his shoulder.

Briarrose, Darkstar, and Shadowstep all sat awaiting news. Briarrose was cautious but hopeful as the two reported their findings and Tabbypath’s vicious assault on the monster. Her expression turned grim as Patches recounted the tragic death of his former clan mate and she made him carefully lay out all the symptoms that he could remember.

“The good news is, we have her vomiting under control, so I think the greatest danger is past.” Briarrose told them all.

“She’ll get delirious as the poison gets deeper into her body.” Patches warned, “And she will be sick from both ends. She may not be able to keep food down very well.”

“We’ll stock up on dock leaves,” she promised. “I know you’re not a Medicine Cat, but would you stay close to camp, Patches? You don’t have to be confined or anything, just don’t range to the farthest parts of the territory.”

Patches nodded, understanding. _She can talk to other Medicine Cats, but I’m the only one who’s ever seen a cat suffer from this kind of poison._

Tabbypath finally managed to squeeze past Briarrose and into the Medicine Cat’s den. The soft rise and fall of his voice could be picked up only if a cat listened closely. Patches closed his eyes, knowing that the warrior was recounting his revenge and murmuring tender words into Silverleopard’s ears.

“That one won’t be much use for a while,” Darkstar muttered, but his whiskers twitched. “Then again, maybe he can help Briarrose keep her calm.”

“Get her to drink,” Patches suggested, “The more water she swallows, the quicker the poison will be flushed out.”

The Medicine cat shot him a half amused, half exasperated look, “No Patches,” she growled sarcastically, “I thought maybe I’d feed her badger dung instead.”

“Flavored with crowfood perhaps?”

“Get out of here and let a cat get work done!” Patches ducked the halfhearted swipe of her paw and trotted across the camp, an amused purr rumbling in his chest. There was something reassuring about a cat who could find enough humor to tease. If she could tease, then she hadn’t given up on her charge.

_Nap time._ He decided. _Enough running done for the day._

“Let all cats old enough to catch their prey join here beneath the low branch for a clan meeting!”

Patches bit his tongue against some inventive cursing and turned away from the nests that seemed to call his name. As always, he sat on the edge of the gathered cats, as though remembering that he was only a visitor.

Darkstar surveyed the cats that had gathered anxiously around, ears perked for any scrap of news about their clanmate.

“Cats of Shadowclan,” he began, “As you all know, Silverleopard was poisoned today. Tabbypath and Patches have found the source. A monster was wounded and left by the twoleg nest in the middle of our territory. The monster’s poisonous blood has spilled into the water on that side of the territory, where Silverleopard was unfortunate enough to drink.”

Horrified gasps and whispers raced around the camp.

“As of now,” Darkstar continued when the whispering died down, “I am declaring all water on that side of the territory off limits, at least until the winter comes and the melting snow washes our territory clear again.”

Now there were yowls of complaint, many cats loudly reminding Darkstar that much of the clan’s water ran through that part of the territory.

“Silence!” Darkstar snarled, and the cats fell silent. “This poison is not to be taken lightly! We still do not know if Silverleopard will survive the night.” A new kind of silence fell, one awed and frightened. “The blood is to be considered as deadly as deathberries. I do not care how hot or dry it gets. If you are to collect water, it is to be collected either at the lake, or upstream from the twoleg nest.”

Shadowstep raised his tail to show he had something to say, “I want a full patrol of cats to follow the water, and see of it can be contained. Mud, sticks, rocks; even whole plants with their roots intact. I want the keenest noses and the cleverest paws put to work on this. If we can channel the tainted water, we may be able to keep the poison from contaminating the rest of the territory. Remember that plants drink water, and we do not want Briarrose’s herbs to be affected.”

As the meeting broke up, Shadowstep took one look at Patches’ weary slump and ordered him off to take a nap; “I will have you guard the camp tonight, so rest up.”

Patches was on guard by the time the moon rose, and it was a weary patrol that slogged back through the entrance of the camp. There was a mutter or two about being Shadowclan, not Riverclan and that the lake was unpleasantly cool tonight. It was obvious that the entire group had taken an unwanted wade into the lake to clean their fur of the tainted mud.

The patrol was halfway to their nests before there was a screech of terror from the Medicine Cat’s den. “Rats! Rats in camp! Protect the kits!”

Patches shot into camp, claws bared. He had neither seen nor smelled anything, but the frantic call was motivation enough to come in for a look around. There were alarmed calls from all about the camp as heads popped out of dens and terrified kits mewled in fear. Patches heard Tabbypath’s voice raised in frantic effort to soothe the delirious she-cat.

“No! Rats! I can see them slinking in the shadows!”

Badgerfur was bowled over by Silverleopard as she staggered into the open, her eyes wide and terrified even as her legs swayed drunkenly beneath her.

“Silverleopard!” Adderfang’s voice rose above the commotion with the air of authority. “I was your mentor! Remember what I taught you!”

Confusion flooded the she-cat’s eyes as she turned slowly toward him. “Adderfang,” she whispered brokenly, “they’re approaching the nursery.”

“No,” he growled, both commanding and calm, “they are not. Your eyes are not the only skill you have, remember? Use your ears and your nose as well. Do you smell rats? Do you hear them?”

Silverleopard hesitated. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, but she obeyed the tom and tasted the air, her ears sweeping from side to side to catch the faintest sound. The clan had fallen silent now and all a cat could hear was the call of a night bird far off in the forest. Further confusion spread across her face as the only scents that came back were the clan’s and the scent of a clear spring evening.

“B-But…”

“Silverleopard, remember what Briarrose told you?” Tabbypath’s voice spoke into the silence, “She said the poison would make you see things. She said it would play with your senses and confuse you.”

Silverlopard’s hind legs folded under her and she sat down rather abruptly. She stiffened as Badgerfur shook pine needles out of his fur, the white stripe along his spine standing out in the moonlight. “Badger!” she gasped.

“Badger _fur,_ ” Tabbypath corrected gently.

Grumbling over the false scare, cats were returning to their dens and kits were being soothed. The weary patrol joined their clanmates in their nests and Adderfang replaced Patches as camp guard.

Patches helped the confused warrior back into the Medicine Cat’s den, held up only once as she snarled at a tree and raked deep furloughs in its bark.

“Silverleopard, we’re safe. There is no danger here.” Tabbypath promised over and over.

“Would you like a piece of freshkill?” Patches offered gently, “It might make you feel better.”

Silverleopard made a sick sound in her throat and hastily shook her head.

Tabbypath’s tail sunk so low it dragged on the ground. He gave Patches a helpless, frightened look.

“Come on Silverleopard,” Briarrose murmured, laying her tail lightly across the warrior’s shoulders, “I’ll give you some herbs to settle your stomach.”

“I hate this.” Tabbypath hissed miserably as the she-cat was drawn away. “At least I could claw the monster.”

“There are some battles only Silverleopard can fight,” Patches sighed, “Things will be no easier if she has kits.”

“Ooohhh don’t mention kits.” The warrior moaned, “I don’t even want to think about what that poison would be doing if she had kits coming.”

Patches watched sorrowfully as he slipped into the den, washed Silverleopard’s ears tenderly and then settled down next to her. She whimpered miserably and pressed her nose to his shoulder.

“Go to your nest, Patches.” Briarrose whispered to him, “Tomorrow will be another battle.”

Patches flinched and turned slowly to the warrior’s den, his paws feeling heavy. _Another battle is just what we_ don’t _need._


	8. Chapter 8

Patches was nudged awake by a gentle nose.

“Murrp?” he mumbled, opening one eye to see a calico with green eyes gazing back at him. Bleary from sleep, it took a blink or two before he recognized Brightblossom.

“Shhh, don’t wake the others.” she all but breathed into his ear, “Come on, we’re taking some apprentices into the training hollow.”

_So why am I going?_ Patches groused to himself.

Allowing him to stop for a quick bite to eat before leading the big Manx away, the whole group seemed to be running on a quiet, eager energy. As they bounded along the marshy paths, Patches realized that the apprentices were nearly as large as their mentors. Even the small Nightpaw seemed longer of leg and more sleek of fur; it was impossible to tell that she had been a starving skeleton in the twoleg place a moon ago.

He nearly stumbled over his own paws when every cat spread out as a unit and turned to face him expectantly; Grassblade and Nightpaw, Brightblossom and Firepaw.

Grassblade’s eyes were sparkling hopefully, “Patches, I got permission from Shadowstep. We’d all like to learn your moves.”

Patches stared.

“We are Shadowclan.” Brightblossom meowed, “We are well aware of how the other three clans view us. They see us as greedy, dangerous, cold hearted cats who let our elder cats starve. But you have seen us as we are. We are a true clan of cats, with as much right to the lake as any clan cat. If we are to fend off our enemies, we must know how to fight; new fighting skills are important.”

“My moves are rather advanced,” he warned them.

“We are ready.”

Nodding his acceptance, Patches began instructing them. It was an amazing rush to see both senior warriors and eager apprentices following his every command. _Is this how it feels to lead?_ He wondered. _It’s an amazing feeling... But I don’t want a clan._

He had seen the strength it took Farseer to lead his cats in the twoleg place. He could see the weight of responsibility that Darkstar shouldered; the grim realization in his eyes as he made difficult choices for the sake of his clan, even though it would make living more difficult in the moons to come.

By the time sunhigh drifted around, everyone was hungry but enthusiastic. Most of them had the moves nearly perfect.

“Count your heartbeats,” Patches warned. “Know when to let go. To suffocate a cat to death is to be a rogue. To be a rogue is to turn your back on, er, your ancestors. This move is for defeating your opponent without causing serious harm. You must instill fear, not inspire revenge for the fallen.”

The happy chattering of the apprentices could not penetrate the cloud of gloom that settled in Patches’ head as they made their way back to camp. Hunting alone had taught the Loner how to gauge the overall intent of every cat he met. And the feelings he had picked up from Sparkfire made him want to skitter away as quickly as though he had encountered an adder. He could only thank the warrior ancestors, whichever clan would listen, that Sparkfire had not been part of this session.

_That cat should never learn those moves. That way lies a darkness of a kind even I would never tread through._

A high unnatural scream made warrior and apprentice alike leap into the air and land with fur bristling. A pause. Then the scream tore through the air again.

Turning his head toward the sound, Patches realized they were again near the twoleg nest. Through the tree trunks, Patches could see a twoleg climbing out of the monster; yowling what could only be curses.

As the startled group of cats stared, the twoleg lashed out with a blow at the monster’s front paw and then hopped about, yowling even more and favoring its leg. Still cursing it lifted up a part of the monster’s front, creating a gigantic mouth that the twoleg leaned fearlessly into. There was a clunk, a rattle, and then a heavy liquid sound. With a glug, monster blood gushed out of the monster’s underside, spreading in a gigantic inky black flood that raced along the twoleg yard toward Shadowclan territory.

“No!” Patches yowled, and bolted forward, barely aware of the cats bounding along beside him. Racing low along the ground, every cat scrambled, shoving mud and small rocks into a pile, desperately trying to dam the flow. The inky black liquid encountered the dam and swirled along it, seeking to travel around the obstruction.

“It’s leaking through!”

“Here! More dirt!”

“It’s trying to flow around!”

“Don’t let it!”

“Dig! We need more dirt!”

“We need more paws!”

“We’re here.”

There were gasps of relief as Badgerfur, Littlepaw, Falmetail, Bumblepaw, Runningstream and Blackpaw, Sparkfire and Splashpaw, all flowed out of the trees and began industriously digging.

“We were patrolling the Thunderclan border,” Badgerfur growled, heaving a great pile of loose dirt up just in time to obstruct the black flood, “We heard the monster’s screams all the way over there and came to see what was going on.”

Runningstream grunted, “Its screams have driven prey deep into their holes, we’re lucky our hunting patrol got a few pieces of freshkill before it started making a racket. Sparkfire and I knew we’d have to come see what was making all that noise.”

“Thank Starclan you did!” Brightblossom gasped, sprinting down the line of cats to help at the lower end of the flow.

Everyone was so busy shoving earth around that no one heard the roar of a new monster until it came to a stop right outside the twoleg yard with a snarl and a blast of fowl smelling air.

Cats gasped and ducked low as a new twoleg climbed out of it and yowled in fury. The twoleg rooting around in the monster’s mouth jumped, hit its head and twisted around to stare. Angrily, the new twoleg hauled out a massive sack and ripped it open, storming toward the cats.

“Scatter!”

The Shadowclan cats bolted, with Patches racing right along behind. As the cats flowed up the trees and peered down, they watched in astonishment as the twoleg upended the sack on the flow of black liquid. The response was immediate; tiny white pebbles spilled over the monster blood and seemed to absorb it. By the time the flow stopped, the tiny white pebbles had turned as black as the tide of monster blood.

Relief turned Patches’ legs to water. It was twoleg stuff, used by twolegs to give kittypets a place to make dirt. It would absorb all liquids, and apparently some twolegs used it to catch monster blood as well.

The new twoleg was irate, pointing with a paw at the now black pile of pebbles and hissing angrily at the heretofore oblivious twoleg working on the monster. Still hissing, it approached the fence, peered over, and spilled more kittypet pebbles over the places where the black blood had spilled through the piled earth.

“Hmph. Well at least some twolegs have sense.” Badgerfur muttered.

Once the twoleg stormed off, the cats swarmed down the trees and moved deeper into Shadowclan territory. As Patches glanced back, he could see both twolegs taking massive unnatural paws, scooping up the poisoned pebbles, and dumping them into trash cans.

_Disaster averted._ He sighed in relief.

As the hungry cats returned to camp for food and to deposit prey, Patches scooped up and devoured a frog before padding to the Medicine Cat den to see how Silverleopard was doing.

He found Snowpaw listlessly sorting berries while an exhausted Tabbypath snoozed next to the she-cat. Briarrose lay with her eyes tightly shut, deeply asleep. After a moment of his puzzled staring, Snowpaw explained in a whisper that Briarrose was seeking counsel with Starclan.

“Something’s wrong with Silverleopard;” she whispered, glancing at the cat in question as she lay, curled in a tight ball with all four paws curled against her belly, “she makes dirt okay, but she hasn’t passed water since you brought her in yesterday.”

Concern filled Patches from paws to ear tips, “The poison?”

“We think so. Something inside her has failed.”

The freshkill in Patches’ stomach turned to stone.

Briarrose’s ear twitched once, and then she blinked her eyes open. Her expression turned to grave sorrow and Patches squeezed his eyes shut.

“No cat in Starclan has the knowledge to help her.” The Medicine Cat’s meow seemed to pronounce the warrior already dead. “Patches, if you know anything…”

He couldn’t meet her eyes, just shook his head. “Silverleopard has lived longer than… than the cat we lost. She died too quickly for the poison to make it to this point. I wish I could help. I wish I knew something, anything, that could help you.”

“Then all I can do is make her as comfortable as I possibly can before…”

Patches couldn’t stay to hear Briarrose finish the sentence; he fled to the Warrior’s den and curled up in a nest. It was just past sunhigh and the den was empty of all cats but Patches. He curled up miserably and squeezed his eyes shut, folding his ears against his head to muffle the sound of camp business going on as usual. An apprentice bounced past, chattering eagerly about something called an “assessment.” His mentor replied calmly, though Patches didn’t pay attention. Digging his nose deeper beneath his paws, he tried to relax into oblivion. But his dream brought him no solace as memories rose up to engulf him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

_She was a spotted tabby; stripes running up her legs and breaking apart into a scattering of spots and stripes as though rain had fallen on her pelt and left their marks upon her rich reddish brown fur wherever it had dripped and trailed. Like other cats in Starclan, she almost vanished among the twoleg nests when she wanted to. She had been the first to welcome the starving kittypet, Patches, and taught him how to hunt. She had also been the cat he had loved for her sweet temperament and admired for her graceful ability to leap from twoleg nest to twoleg nest as though her paws had wings._

_Gentlebreeze._

_Water was somewhat difficult to come by in the twoleg place, so a cat drank where he or she could, and then brought moss soaked in it back to camp. Patches had found her staggering about as though drunk, eyes unfocused and a lump of moss, smelling sweet as honey, discarded on the ground where it had fallen from her numb jaws. She had struggled to focus on him, mouth opening weakly._

_“I-I d-don’t feel so good,” she mewled, and then she retched. The first of many times._

_Skygaze had struggled all afternoon and into the evening to get her stomach under control. Nothing he did could stop her stomach from rejecting everything. Only when there was nothing left and her throat raw from dry heaving did she stop. But by then, Patches knew she was lost. Her paws twitched uncontrollably against the nest of leaves for only a few short heartbeats, and then she simply slipped away._

_His chest hurt. His legs felt like lead. His tongue went numb with grief as his throat threatened to close beyond all ability to breathe. He pressed his nose into her cooling fur and squeezed his eyes shut._

_A wail rose from a cat in the clan, a sound his heart echoed, but could not find the air to give voice to._

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The trees rustled above him, teased by a breath of air that kept the warm Greenleaf day from becoming unbearable. A scent, warm and delicate, teased his nose.

_Gentlebreeze._

Almost against his will, he untucked his face and glanced around. No sparking form of a cat from the Clan of the Skies was there to greet him. No flash of spotted tabby fur or patter of paw steps soothed his aching heart.

But then a cat wailed, long and helpless in the warm air, mimicking the cry in his dreams; only this time, the wailing was real. Lurching on legs gone numb from their tightly tucked positions, Patches sprinted past the stunned cats of Shadowclan and squeezed his way into the Medicine Cat den. He found Tabbypath crouching by Silverleopard’s side, her breathing gone shallow and very slow.

Briarrose’s head hung low, and she did not bother to scold the warrior for making noise. Snowpaw looked frantically from Briarrose to Silverleopard, as though expecting her mentor to suddenly remember an herb that would make it all better. When the Medicine Cat continued to remain immobile, Snowpaw's glances turned frantic, as though willing her mentor to save the day. Finally a look of horror crossed her face; she was about to experience the first loss of a patient, and she could do nothing but accept it.

The anxious calls of the clan seemed muffled and distant, and the air stirred in the close space; teasing the plants and clearing out the scent of sickness that clung to the very soil. As Patches watched, something glimmered before the prone warrior, and he gasped softly.

A spotted tabby form crouched before Silverleopard. It leaned close and whispered something unheard in her ear before touching her muzzle to Silverleopard’s head. Both Medicine Cat and apprentice had gone rigid, staring with wide eyes and bristling pelts.

Silverleopard jerked and tensed, eyes shut and mouth gaping in a soundless wail. Then she shuddered all over and sank back into her nest, limp as a river reed. Tabbypath’s wail cut off as she she-cat collapsed again and he frantically began nosing her all over, paying no attention to the stranger crouching a whisker length away.

Then, eyes like liquid amber, Gentlebreeze turned and stared right at Patches. “Hello again, my love.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You know this cat?” Briarrose growled.

“Yes.” A combination of grief and love making his voice a coarse rasp, “She is the cat we lost to the monster poison.” He wanted to leap forward and thrust his muzzle against her shoulder and simply breathe in her scent. But even as he watched, she was fading slowly out.

“I don’t have much time,” Gentlebreeze meowed softly, “But know this: I followed you, my love. And I will always follow you. Find happiness, and don’t be afraid to explain our ways to these good cats. They are different from yours,” she added, turning her gaze to Briarrose and Snowpaw and purring softly, “but they belong to a clan as good and honorable as your own.”

Patches swallowed painfully as she faded out of sight. His eyes squeezed shut as the breeze seemed to curl around him, teasing his fur delicately and flooding his lungs with her scent before gently fading away.

Tabbypath lifted his head from Silverleopard’s fur and looked at the other three cats, his eyes glowing like twin full moons. “She’s alive!”

The she-cat lifted her head slowly and managed to open her eyes slightly. “Tabbypath? I’m so hungry I could eat a dog…”

“She’s hungry! Don’t worry Silverleopard, I’m going to stuff you with freshkill until you can’t think of eating another bite.” The warrior was on his paws, torn between bouncing like an excited kit, nosing the she-cat behind the ears and racing off to the freshkill pile.

“That would be nice,” Silverleopard sighed, her whiskers giving a small twitch of amusement.

As Tabbypath sprinted out of the Medicine Cat’s den, they could hear him excitedly spouting the news to every cat in the clan.

“I think explanations are in order,” Briarrose said stiffly, “starting with why a cat from a strange clan gave Silverleopard an extra life!”

“That’s what she did?” Snowpaw gasped, her eyes flashing wide. “But only clan leaders get extra lives!”

“The clan I come from is different,” Patches explained. “We are a peaceful group, though we all fight well against Rogues. When…” Patches swallowed, “When a cat’s life is torn from them, be it monsters, accidents or… or poison, that cat keeps a close eye on her clan mates. If she can help another clan mate, she gives a life to a cat who is dying before her time.”

“Why didn’t the warrior ancestors save… your love?” Briarrose rumbled.

Patches tipped his head. He had wondered that himself, but now he had an idea. “I think the damage was too great. The poison wasn’t diluted the way it was for Silverleopard. If the Clan of the Skies tried to save Gentlebreeze, the poison would have sucked out every life they gave her and still be powerful enough to kill her in the end. Some wounds… cannot be healed with another life.”

Briarrose’s eyes softened and she dipped her head, “This I know. Some day I may tell you of another cat who lost all nine of his lives in a single blow.

“With this life I give you love. May you live it until you are as silver as the stars, and your trip to your ancestors be a gentle breeze in the Elder’s Den.”

Patches, Briarrose and Snowpaw turned as one to look at Silverleopard. Her eyes were half lidded, and she looked exhausted, but they could almost see the strength flowing back into the weary warrior.

“That’s what she told me… the cat who gave me the life. I don’t deserve it. But now I’ve got it, I will try to live it to the fullest for my clan… and for our future.” Her gaze swept toward the entrance of the den, where Tabbypath could be heard offering mumbled thanks to his clan as he padded back toward them.

Briarrose sighed, “You will have to remain here for a while longer and regain your strength. I think it’s safe to send Tabbypath back to his duties, now that the danger is past for you; but you are to do nothing more strenuous than visit the dirtplace for a while. Patches, you’re free to return to your duties. And keep your mouth shut about this. The clan only needs to know that… um, we have Starclan to thank for Silverleopard’s recovery.”

_In more ways than one._ Patches thought, and slipped out of the Medicine Cat’s den before Tabbypath could come in. The warrior was carrying the fattest frog Patches had ever seen, and his eyes sparkled with barely restrained joy.

The clan seemed upbeat in the light of the afternoon, gossiping eagerly about Silverleopard’s miraculous recovery. Silentdeath nodded in solemn approval as Runningstream eagerly praised Briarrose’s skills as a Medicine cat and Tabbypath’s loving devotion, which _must_ be the reasons why Silverleopard made it through. The apprentices chattered eagerly together in a big bunch, and once again Patches was struck by their size.

In Starclan, apprentices gazed into the mirror and then demonstrated their skills in hunting as well as combat for the clan. There was no mirror here, but perhaps Shadowclan had their own method of welcoming new warriors?

Finally Falmetail, Runningstream, and Sparkfire gathered their apprentices up and led them off, reminding them of the “assessment” that Patches had heard of earlier in the day.

Grassblade nodded kindly to Patches and took a seat next to him. “We have much to celebrate. With luck, we’ll have three new warriors tonight. Silverleopard, I hear, is making a recovery. And perhaps, some kits will become apprentices soon and give the queens some space in the nursery.”

“What about Nightpaw?” Patches asked quietly, “Surely she’s old enough.”

Grassblade purred a little laugh, “They are all old enough. But remember, there are many apprentices; if we sent them all out at once, they would trip over each other’s paws trying to hunt. Besides,” she added in a hushed voice, “I think we could use a bit more training in your moves before we make them warriors.”

That evening, the clan celebrated three new warriors; Bumblebee, Blackear and Splasheye.

Silentdeath and Sparkfire were already in the Warrior’s den by the time Patches padded in to settle down in a nest. Silentdeath raised her head, have him a half lidded stare and then turned away and settled down to sleep. Sparkfire uttered a low growl but turned away as well as the rest of the warriors slipped in to find nests of their own.

The den was crowded, and would be even more so if the three new warriors joined the rest. Shadowstep stuck his nose in, blinked, and rumbled a new names, calling them out for a night patrol. With more room, Patches settled more comfortably and pressed his face against his paws. His heart stung with every beat; the pain of losing Gentlebreeze had faded with time, but her appearance set open the old wounds anew. He did not begrudge Silverleopard her unexpected life, nor could he really feel jealous that poor Tabbypath got her back from the brink of death.

But it hurt. It hurt to know that Gentlebreeze’s love drove her to follow him on his lonely path, ever waiting for the time, long distant, when he could join her. And it hurt. It hurt knowing that she was there, but he could neither see, nor smell, nor touch her. She wanted him to find happiness, even if it meant she had to watch him live the rest of his days with another she-cat.

Patches’ throat constricted again and with a soft sigh he heaved himself up and out of the Warrior’s den. He wouldn’t get any sleep with thoughts capering about like mice in his head.

Blackear spotted Patches and tilted his head, silently inquiring.

“I need to go for a walk,” he whispered, “I’ll be back soon.”

Spasheye flicked an ear and Blackear nodded. Bumblebee looked anxious but caught himself before he spoke.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised them all, but flicked a reassuring glance at Bumblebee.

The Shadowclan territory was alive with the trilling of frogs and the scuttling of night foraging prey. He sniffed carefully at the running streams and pools of water that dotted the territory, but he could smell nothing out of the ordinary. Though he ranged up and down, no sweet smell hinted that the water was poisoned. Sniffing directly at the little stream where Silverleopard had drunk… nothing sweet. But…

A faint bitter smell suddenly stung his nose. He could see nothing wrong, but the water was shrouded in shadows from the trees looming overhead in the dark night.

Yet he knew the water was tainted. Trailing along the water, he followed it all the way to the Greenleaf twoleg place.

Patches gasped as he stepped on something rubbery that gave and rolled beneath his paws. Staggering, he nearly ended up in the nearest pool of water, saved only by landing with a whuff of expelled air a whisker length away.

The trees seemed to bend slightly, and Patches gasped as a shaft of moonlight struck the surface of the water and found faint rainbows swirling in it. Feeling sick with realization, he turned and saw a dead frog; its flesh dimpled where his paw had landed on it.

It had been dead long before he touched it.

“No,” he whispered in horror, “No, no, no!”

He raced back up to the twoleg place and groaned in horror. Water jetted up from the grass, spraying everything for fox lengths around. The bitter smell was stronger here, and he could see rainbows swirling along the water as it drained out of the grass, through the scraped patch of earth where the back monster blood had spilled, and out into Shadowclan territory. The twolegs had not cleaned up enough, and their enthusiastic watering of their lawn was washing the poison directly into the clan’s water supply.

For a futile instant, he wanted to leap forward and dam the flow with more dirt. But he knew it was too late. The water had been flowing for hours now, and all the water that Darkstar had declared tainted was now severely polluted by poison. Worse, the running water made sure the poison was carried far and fast, killing prey and tainting every bit of water and every plant along the way.

This rainbow hued poison was common enough in the twoleg place, though Starclan cats knew that water found on thunderpaths was tainted. Here, there was no escape save directly from the lake near the Thunderclan border. Shadowclan would be without most of its herbs for the rest of the season.

As swiftly as his legs could carry him, Patches sprinted back to the clan.

He squeezed quickly in, dipping his head in apology to the three new warriors, who had jumped to their paws in alarm at his sudden arrival.

“Darkstar!” he hissed into the clan leader’s den, “we have a problem!”

“Darkstar is leading the night patrol,” Shadowstep growled into Patches’ ear. “What’s going on?”

The Loner didn’t bother to hide the horror in his eyes as he recounted finding the new poison in the already tainted water.

Shadowstep closed his eyes and shook his head. “Starclan toys with us,” he whispered, “It gives us joy and then sorrow and just when we recover, the sorrow returns tenfold.”

Patches stared, disturbed. Did this Clan’s ancestors truly toy with its descendants so? The Clan of the Skies was always kind and helpful, bringing comfort and warnings both to help the Clan in times of need. Even the surliest cat of the Skies would leap down from the stars and shove a cat to the edge of a thunderpath to safety if it could do so swiftly enough.

Taking a deep breath, the deputy opened his eyes again and gave Patches a level stare, “You may be tired Patches, but I think it best if you stay up and wait for Darkstar to return. He’d best hear it from the mouth of a cat who knows of what he speaks.”

Patches nodded solemnly. There was too much to think about anyway. Almost unwillingly, his gaze drifted up to the stars above. They were more numerous here than in the twoleg place; the skies were almost cloudy with the countless points of light. Were the ancestors of these warrior cats truly like Shadowstep said?

Darkstar returned from what had been a quiet patrol and his face fell as he took in his deputy and Patches sitting up waiting for him with solemn faces.

“Oh no,” he muttered, “what now?”

His expression turned to horror when he realized that half the clan’s water, prey and herbs had been ripped away with one fell swoop.

“This will be a miserable clan for moons,” he grumbled, “With Thunderclan on one side and Riverclan on the other, and the clan’s own territory suddenly an enemy…” He sighed, “I will hold a clan meeting in the morning. There’s nothing that won’t wait until the Dawn Patrol.”

“Isn’t Riverclan on the side where the water is poisoned?” Patches asked, “Won’t they be affected as well?”

“Perhaps at the lake on that side,” Shadowstep growled, “But we have a small thunderpath and the Greenleaf twoleg place that forms a barrier between our territories. The poison trickling into the lake won’t cross that just to affect a rival clan.”

Darkstar closed his eyes for a long, long moment, and then he sighed. Without a word, he turned and padded into his den. Shadowstep and Patches shared an anxious glance and then both sighed and padded into their nests. Time would come soon enough for trouble to come clawing at the entrance to the camp.


	10. Chapter 10

It was no surprise that the camp reacted with near panic to the news. Briarrose simply closed her eyes and then set off with Tabbypath to scour the territory for every last little bit of herbs they could find that could be considered safe. The poor warrior had volunteered immediately to help search for herbs when he heard that there might not be enough for Silverleopard to make a full recovery. That cat was going to be a wreck for moons; every time he thought the danger was over, something else put his love’s life in jeopardy again.

Snowpaw remained behind, grimly sorting through the stores they had left and making the difficult choices; what would last a few days more and what was beyond keeping for medicinal purposes. Silverleopard rested and watched with keen eyes.

Several cats whispered about how some of the more fragile plants were already wilting on that side of the territory. Somehow a rumor sprang up among a few cats; before Patches had come to the territory, the clan had never experienced so much trouble.

The Loner did his best to ignore the mutterings behind his back as he, Grassblade, Nightpaw, Brightblossom and Firepaw headed out into the training hollow. The training session was brief; both apprentices had picked up the moves and were eager for their assessment. Both warriors now knew the moves just as well and were helping their charges refine the moves.

Darkstar was waiting for Patches as he returned, and called him into his den.

Curious and wondering what the clan leader wanted to talk about, Patches was caught by surprise by a wave of small paws that swarmed over him from behind and pinned him to the ground.

“Mrrrowp!” He yelped, and then his vision was blocked by a wall of ginger fur.

Realizing that he had been swarmed by a mob of kits, Patches growled playfully and snaked his paws out to seize Burnkit. But the kits had been practicing, and Burnkit tumbled away, quick as a snake before pouncing back to pummel his ears with swift swats of her paw.

Purring a laugh, Patches waved his paws in the air in surrender, “All right!” he managed to gasp, “All right you win! I give! If I were a rogue I’d be yowling for mercy by now.”

Giggling, the kits tumbled away and lined up in a row, each crouching and watching him for any tricks he might pull with sparkling eyes.

“You lot are getting to be too rambunctious for the nursery,” scolded Dawnlight, coming up behind them; “Thank Starclan that you’ll be apprentices soon and your mentors can have their paws full herding you about! I’m tempted to dump you in Riverclan territory!”

“Where they’ll curse your name forever!” Brightkit mewed, not a bit ruffled by the threat.

“Impudence!” Dawnlight growled, “What does it take to get a little respect?”

The kits all shared a glance and then meowed as one, “A tougher queen than you!”

“If the lot of you are done pummeling Patches into the dirt, I _did_ ask him to join me in my den.” Darkstar said wryly.

The kits all rounded on Darkstar, widening their eyes beguilingly and purring as sweetly as honey, “Can we come?”

“We want to see!”

“What are you going to talk about?”

“No; no; and none of your business, kits.” Darkstar scolded. “No, not even you Fallingkit,” he said sternly, though his eyes softened as they rested on his son. “Why don’t you pester the elders for a story? Remember to bring a bit of fresh kill though!” he reminded the retreating hind ends of the kits and they scampered off.

Patches shook his head morosely, “There will be less of that to go around starting today.”

“Don’t I know it.” Darkstar gestured for Patches to follow him with a twitch of his tail.

“Patches,” the clan leader sighed as he turned to face the Loner as he entered the den, “I’m going to take a great risk tonight. I’m going to give you an apprentice.”

“What?” Patches gaped at Darkstar incredulously, “B-but I’m a Loner. An outsider. I was going to go as soon as…” Patches hesitated.

“You could have left Nightpaw with us as soon as you found us,” Darkstar meowed calmly, “but you didn’t. You could have left us when Silverleopard was poisoned. But you stayed and helped Briarrose as best you could. You could have left last night, when you saw that the clan’s territory was half poisoned, knowing that the next months would be as harsh as Leafbare with so little prey. Not only did you stay but you stayed and trained some of my cats in your fighting techniques.” Darkstar pressed when Patches remained silent.

“What kind of cat would leave the lives of other cats hanging like that?” Patches protested feebly.

“A Loner. An outsider. A cat who could leave whenever he wished because he had no true ties with a clan.” Darkstar threw Patches’ words back at him.

“I was raised in a peaceful clan,” Patches continued doggedly, “Our code is different from yours. We know little of borders. We did not have border skirmishes like you do. Even our prey is very different from yours.”

“And yet, despite all that, you stayed.” Darkstar was immovable. “Listen Patches, our clan has swelled to a massive size the past four seasons. We have an over abundance of new warriors crowding the senior warriors in the den. We have a horde of energetic kits ready to be apprentices. And yet we suddenly have barely enough prey to sustain a smaller clan, much less our own.”

Suddenly Patches understood. Darkstar was desperate to keep Patches with the clan _because_ he was an outsider. He knew ways of hunting that Shadowclan didn’t. He knew how to find food in places considered barren of prey. He would spot prey that Shadowclan would never have glanced twice at because they were so used to the prey that ran in the swamps.

Darkstar knew this. He also knew that since the Loner had always made it clear that his visit was temporary, there had to be a way to extend his “visit” in a way his clan would accept. The only way to do this was to have the Loner mentor an apprentice as though he were a full member of the clan; teaching the younger generation and the older generation at the same time.

Closing his eyes briefly, Patches knew he had to concede to the clan leader’s need. Besides, he liked Grassblade and Brightblossom. He was proud of Nightpaw and Firepaw, soon to be warriors with new names and skills that he had taught them himself. He adored the kits, who already learned a battle skill and defensive move all in one simply from playing with him. He thought of Tabbypath’s devotion to Silverleopard and knew that their love mirrored his own to Gentlebreeze.

Quietly, Patches said; “Very well. But I am Patches. I was Patches before I joined my first clan. I became Patches again when our, er… Medicine Cat spoke of a prophesy that led me to Nightpaw. I was Patches when another prophesy brought me to Shadowclan to return Nightpaw.”

Darkstar nodded calmly, “Then your ceremony shall be tonight, after the apprentices become warriors and before the kits become apprentices.”

/\/\/\/\

“Let all cats old enough to catch their prey join here beneath the low branch for a clan meeting!” Darkstar yowled that evening.

The hunting had been poor today, and many cats were already gathered, murmuring about how many bellies would be growling tonight. At Darkstar’s yowl, cats simply shuffled closer to that end of the camp.

For the first time, Patches sat near the center of the clan, groomed and with his head high. Several cats glanced at him sidelong in mild curiosity but voiced no objections. Sparkfire’s disapproving hiss was quickly shushed and he sat glowering next to Silentdeath, his eyes burning.

“Tonight is a night of both great joy and heavy responsibility.” Darkstar meowed. “Our clan is the largest of any at the lake. Yet our prey pool has dwindled to nearly Leafbare levels. Tonight, we welcome new warriors, and usher ‘kits into the roles of ‘paws.”

“Brightblossom, Grassblade, are you satisfied that these apprentices are ready to become warriors?”

“I am”

“I am.”

Then I Darkstar, leader of Shadowclan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon these apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you as warriors in turn. Firepaw do you promise to uphold the warrior code and defend this clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Firepaw trembled slightly, but lifted her head high, “I do.”

“Then by the powers of Starclan I give you your warrior name. Firepaw, from now on, you will be known as Firefly. Shadowclan welcomes you as a full warrior.”

Firefly gave Darkstar’s shoulder a respectful lick and the leader turned to the remaining apprentice. “Nightpaw do you promise to uphold the warrior code and defend this clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do.” For an instant, Patches thought he saw an older cat standing before the clan leader, calm and proud and more than a little delighted. And only a blink later, the difference seemed to be only in size and a bit more experience.

“Then by the powers of Starclan I give you your warrior name. Nightpaw, from now on, you will be known as Nightsky. Shadowclan welcomes you as a full warrior.”

“Firefly! Nightsky!”

Patches raised his voice along with the other cats, and heard their mentors meowing it in a chorus of almost-song to welcome the new warriors.

“Patches,” a startled murmur raced through the camp, “You have aided our clan through our times of need and returned to us a cat we thought lost. You have taught warriors and apprentices alike your fighting skills.” Sparkfire’s growl was almost too low to hear. Almost. “We welcome you as a full member of our clan.”

Fewer cats called Patches’ name in welcome. Others were silent, staring.

After the calls died away, Darkstar lifted his head and waved his tail for attention, “Littlepaw, Fawnpaw, no apprentice is forgotten. Your assessments shall be bright and early tomorrow morning.” The last two apprentices straightened out of their forlorn slumps, and Darkstar continued, “Hard times are upon us, and Shadowclan needs all the cats it can get out seeking prey and herbs for the clan. Thus tonight, I am showing that Shadowclan will survive and remain strong no matter the hardships placed upon it.”

Several cats growled in fierce approval.

“Heavykit, until you have earned your warrior name, you shall be known as Heavypaw. Tabbypath, you are now ready to take an apprentice. You shall mentor Heavypaw. You have proven yourself to be both loyal and patient, and I know you will pass on all you know to your apprentice.”

As the pair touched noses, Patches could feel the pride and hope in the warriors seated around him. He nodded ever so slightly in approval. This was different than Starclan, but it still felt right.

Fallingkit became Fallingpaw, and met up with Adderfang. Brightkit and Dapplekit became Brightpaw and Dapplepaw, given to Flametail and Brightblossom.

Only Burnkit was left, her green eyes wide and wondering, rapidly sweeping the gathered cats with her eyes for a hint of her soon to be mentor.

 “Burnkit.” She jumped at Darkstar’s words, and his whiskers twitched slightly. “From this moment on, until you earn your warrior name, you shall be known as Burnpaw. Patches,” the clan seemed to gasp as one as the tom’s name rang through the air, “You are kind and intelligent. I’m sure you will pass all of these things to your apprentice.”

Excitedly, Burnkit bounced forward and eagerly touched noses with Patches.

“Now hold on!” Snarled Sparkfire, “Patches is barely a clan member! He doesn’t know the warrior code! He came to our territory bearing the hated dog’s teeth and felled a fox -A FOX- with a single blow. His paws are stained with hatred and blood. And ever since he has shown up, our clan has faced poison and trouble unending! Why does he get an apprentice?!”

Several cats raised their voices in angry agreement. Darkstar let the cacophony of yowls fade away, his tail slowly twitching and his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Outsider.” Silentdeath’s voice slid through the air, flowing through the camp like a snake and causing several cats to turn to look at her. If she was speaking, then her words were listened to, if only because they were rare. Her expression was as cool and as impossible to read as the mood of a boulder, but her eyes latched onto Patches and remained, unwavering.

Burnpaw pressed herself against Patches’ front paws, staring wide eyed at her own clan’s hostility.

“Are you done?” Darkstar’s voice was as frosty as the heart of Leafbare. “It seems many of you need to become apprentices again, for forgetting that the clan leader’s word IS the Warrior Code. I have named my reasons, and there are many more beyond what I have said. Any cat with breath to argue can come to me and have his or her ears forcibly stuffed with reasons.”

The clan was silent.

“Patches.”

He turned. “Yes?”

“You have been welcomed into my clan as a full member. Should I doubt that you would defend it, even at the cost of your life?” Darkstar’s voice was as calm as a puddle of water, but Patches felt the weight of importance behind what must be his answer.

“Let no cat doubt it!” He meowed clearly.

“I don’t.” All cats turned to see Silverleopard making her slow way out of the Medicine Cat’s Den. Her legs shook with each step, but her gaze was steady upon the Manx. Shadowclan cats hastily made way for the weakened warrior as she padded among them. “I would be in Starclan now if it weren’t for this cat’s knowledge of how to treat the poison that ran through my veins. Any cat that blames him for our troubles also says that I should have died rather than live.”

Several cats stuttered denials and Sparkfire abruptly ducked his head, not daring to voice any more objections.

Fighting a lump in his throat, Patches dipped his head respectfully to the shaky warrior who gazed kindly at him. Slowly she turned around and padded back to the Medicine Cat’s den, pausing only to purr gently to Tabbypath.

“If there are no more objections, I believe the clan should prepare for the night. We have new warriors ready for their vigil tonight.”

The meeting broke up after that and Burnpaw was soon her playful, eager self.

“Will you show me how to hunt foxes? Will you teach me that move you used on Sparkfire? Will I be able to catch prey by the end of tomorrow? What about-“

“Calm down.” Patches placed a light paw on Burnpaw’s back to stop her from bouncing about like a flea on a hot rock. “Hunting and fighting skills will take time. And why would you want to hunt foxes? Have you ever _smelled_ one before?”

Wide eyed she shook her head.

He leaned down close as though imparting a great secret. “They smell terrible. Worse than crowfood. Worse than the dirtplace. Would you like to get that smell all over you while trying to drag that great stinking thing all the way to the freshkill pile?” He ran a paw through her fur as though smearing a glob of gunk into her fur.

Burnpaw shuddered all over and shook her head even more vehemently. “Never mind.”

Patches’ whiskers twitched slightly, “I thought that might be the case. Better rest up tonight. Tomorrow we’ll be hunting prey.” _What little of it there is._ He added morosely to himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Patches blinked awake slowly as a shaft of warm sunlight spilled across his face. For a moment he lay there, luxuriating in the feel and the sound of the breeze rustling the needles in the trees. Then he remembered that he had an apprentice to train and sighed, rising to his paws.

Shadowstep intercepted him on the way to the apprentice den and nodded when he told the deputy about teaching Burnpaw to hunt. “We usually show them the borders and let them practice hunting first, but perhaps it is wiser to get them learning as they go for now. But keep in mind they will miss prey the first few tries, and we cannot afford that.”

Patches dipped his head politely, “It is how I learned, and there are ways to ensure the prey falls into our jaws one way or another.”

Shadowstep’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “Perhaps I should come with you and see what you have in mind. I could teach the other warriors and the whole clan can learn in very short time. Wait for me. I’m going to rouse some more warriors.”

Badgerfur, Littlepaw, Silentdeath and Fawnpaw padded past, the apprentices wide eyed and eager to get on with their assessments.

A gentle touch of Patches’ paw roused Burnpaw, and they made way for Brightblossom and Tabbypath to rouse their own apprentices.

As all seven cats padded out along the twoleg path that bordered Shadowclan and Thunderclan territories, Patches outlined his plan.

All cats listened with rapt attention until they reached a spot where the twoleg path forked and Patches finished explaining.

Shadowstep was the first to nod approvingly. “It’s a good plan, though I doubt Thunderclan would appreciate it.”

“Thunderclan can chase their tails like dogs,” Tabbypath snorted, “Prey crosses the borders all the time, and we’ll be hunting in our own territory. No cat can lay claim to it but Shadowclan.”

“True enough,” Brightblossom agreed.

Patches demonstrated the moves that would be needed, letting the other cats practice until they had a good idea on how to move.

Then he hunted back and forth along the path, carefully pulling up grasses that were going to seed and dragging them into a pile. When the pile was sufficiently big, they grasped the long strands carefully, as far away from the seeds as possible, and shook them out over the flat surface of the twoleg path.

Seeds and chaff fluttered out, showing up clearly on the beaten earth. The apprentices, with their smaller paws, delicately hooked seed pods from clover and tossed them out, giggling as the tiny pods burst on impact, spraying their tiny white seeds in all directions. When the ground was littered, the warriors melted into the shadows to silently wait. The apprentices swarmed up the trees and crouched, staring down intently at the road.

Burnpaw was just starting to fidget on her branch when there was a loud clattering of wings and a wood pigeon fluttered out of Thunderclan territory and landed noisily on the road. The apprentices went stiff and alert, but Patches hissed softly “Wait.”

Cooing and strutting, the pigeon paced back and forth, and then began to peck at the seeds strewn around the path.

“Not yet.”

More wings fluttered and a second bird joined the first. Then a third and a fourth.

“Now!”

Apprentices dropped from the trees like pinecones, paws flailing. Panicked birds took to the air, and immediately collided with flailing paws from above. Warriors sprang into the open and took down the disoriented birds in swift lunges. There were soft “whuff” and “ooof” sounds as the apprentices landed on the packed earth, but a quick, concerned glance reassured Patches that the worst landing was just a bit of breath being knocked out of the young cats’ lungs.

“Was that one of the hunting techniques of your old clan?” Shadowstep asked, eyes sparkling.

Patches nodded, “Twolegs throw down seeds for prey all the time, but never hunt them. Our warriors modified the lure into a trap. Younger cats cut off the escape into the air, giving warriors time to catch the prey.”

“Let’s go.” Brightblossom meowed, picking up a pigeon, “We won’t be able to try the same trick again, at least not today.”

The additions to the prey pile was greeted with delighted meows and Burnpaw’s small chest swelled as the hunting patrol was praised as a whole for finding food. More hunting would be needed, but for now, it was a good start.

Next came battle moves, which proved a bit more difficult for Burnpaw; she was still bouncy with energy at having managed to swat a pigeon right into Patches’ jaws as she fell. He finally had to pounce her down and try to chew lightly on her ear to make her pay attention, and got pummeled on the nose for his trouble. She was flexible and quick. And innovative, he realized; when he jerked back in surprise, and the young she-cat promptly wrapped herself around both of his forepaws, pinning them together on the ground.

Purring a low chuckle, he finally got her to settle down and learn the Front Paw Blow. It was simple, but required focus. He corrected her gently and encouraged her to practice adding force behind the strike. Reading her emotions was as easy as watching a leaf blow along in wind. Her eyes would all but glow when he praised her and would gleam in concentration as he gently nudged her into proper posture and movements. He often caught her peering at him out of the corner of her eyes as he fluidly demonstrated the move.

Pleasure rolled through him as she mastered the move by the end of the training session.

“Practice,” he encouraged her as they padded back to camp with the rest of the apprentices that afternoon, “You’ve got the strength and posture just fine; but try adding speed. Remember you don’t want your enemy ducking your swipe because you were too slow.”

She nodded somberly, which lasted only until they passed through the camp entrance. Watching her vanish eagerly into the apprentice’s den, he allowed himself a brief rumble of pride. He was even able to ignore Silentdeath’s cool stare as he padded past her on the way to the Elder’s den.

And **almost** managed to retain his dignity when a clump of stale bedding plastered itself across his face.

“Whoops! Sorry Patches.”

Shaking the moss from his eyes, Patches saw Brightpaw and Dapplepaw scraping up bedding and tossing it toward the entrance of the den.

“Is that normally how you change bedding?” he asked, mildly amused as the two enthusiastically tossed moss and other debris into a pile.

“Er, no. We just thought it would be easier to pile it all up and move it all out.” Dapplepaw flung the final piece into the pile.

“Perhaps. Assuming an Elder wasn’t hoping for a quick nap before all the bedding was churned up,” Hawkcry’s cracked voice sounded next to Patches’ ear. “No youngster, don’t bother budging. I can tell I’m better off finding some sun.” he added as Patches started to sidle out of his way.

“Oops.” Dapplepaw looked abashed.

“Team work youngling.” Hawkcry advised, “One to ferry moss in, one to ferry moss out.”

“Now then,” Hawkcry said as the pair moved away from the den, “I take it you wanted to talk to an Elder. Well here I am, and I’m awake. For now.” The old cat tucked his paws under him in a warm patch of sun.

Patches hesitated, then sighed. “What can you tell me about the other clans?”

“And what brought this on?”

Patches explained the hunting technique and how Shadowstep seemed to think Thunderclan would object.

Hawkcry sighed, “Let me explain something to you. We’re all cats. And we’re all in our clans. Because we are nudged right up against one another, the prey we hunt sometimes strays. There are plenty enough hot blooded cats who will yowl loud enough to wake a hibernating badger if some of their prey falls into another clan’s jaws. It doesn’t matter that the prey is in one territory or another, they think that since their clan hunts it, that it belongs to their clan alone.”

“Sounds… immature.”

“You mean stupid.” Hawkcry corrected. “Every clan must fill its belly with whatever prey happens to be available in its own borders. If a Shadowclan cat catches a fish at the lake, Riverclan will yowl up a storm. If a bird flutters out of Thunderclan and lands in Shadowclan territory, Thunderclan will howl about prey stealing. Keep this in mind, young warrior: prey is prey. And as long as it’s caught within our borders, there’s nothing any other clan can do about it other than yowl.”

“I’d like to yowl myself,” Flametail growled as he padded up to them, trying to shake extra mud out from between his toes, “Do you have any idea how much crowfood that poison has scattered in our territory? Our border patrol spent half the day burying the poisoned prey to keep the crows out.”

“Crows are good eating,” Patches protested.

“Except when enough of them get together and get bold enough to attack live cats.” Hawkcry growled, “Cowards alone, a group of them is more than able to kill a young cat or even an unlucky warrior.”

“Has that happened before?” Patches asked, wide eyed.

“Once.” Hawkcry’s expression reflected the horror of the memory. “Many cats were wounded, some apprentices severely. One warrior lost both eyes trying to save the life of his apprentice. The last thing he ever saw was Huntpaw going down beneath their evil claws. Poor cat. Even without eyes he saw it again and again in his dreams.”

Flametail’s claws bit into the ground, perhaps thinking of his own apprentice. Patches made a sad, shocked sound in his throat.

The crows in the twoleg place were loners, rarely in pairs. They were excellent eating if a hunting pair could catch one by surprise. He had seen them; their wingspans formidable. The thought of enough crows to take down a warrior sent a chill through him.

The air would be filled with fluttering wings. Massive flapping forms filling the sky. Raucous cries drowning the screeches of cats. Flashing claws and stabbing beaks from everywhere.

As if in answer to the thought, the call of a crow sounded in the distance and the three cats jerked, staring up over the treetops. A large black form landed on the roof of the twoleg nest in the distance.

“Caw! Caw!” It flapped its wings a few times, then took to the air and began to circle over a spot in the forest.

“Starclan preserve us,” Flametail muttered “Don’t let Briarrose see a sign of things to come in that.”

Things weren’t much better after that. Patches showed the Shadowclan cats and his apprentice how to lure prey from the trees and rushes with food; seeds for birds and nuts for squirrels, and even how to fish; a pastime that most Shadowclan cats found distasteful until bellies started yowling with hunger.

Fawnstep and Littleflower had passed their assessments and were eager to show that they could be warriors like any senior cat. It was a small blessing that most days they could at least bring a piece of prey each almost every time they hunted.

Despite their best efforts though, the clan grew leaner and some crankier. They weren’t starving, thanks to Patches’ lessons, but every cat spent most nights thinking longingly of a fat frog or other choice bit of prey.

With less food, there was less energy. The clan struggled to keep up with dying prey, but it was next to impossible. A cat would hear the call of a crow at least once per day. By the time a quarter moon had passed, prey stopped dying. A mixed blessing at best; much of the poison had drained away into the lake, with only minimal effects on the fish there. But it also meant that a large portion of the prey the clan would normally be hunting was already dead. Several plants were wilted. Others seemed to fare well, but Briarrose refused to touch them, muttering about signs and bleached bones in the sun.

Burnpaw had just finished ferrying new bedding into the elder’s den one afternoon when Fallingpaw and Adderfang stumbled into camp; Fallingpaw’s eyes glazed with shock, bleeding from a scratch above his left eye while Adderfang coaxed the young cat along with soothing words.

As Snowpaw treated the apprentice for shock, Adderfang explained.

The crows, lured into Shadowclan territory, were displeased by the abrupt lack of crowfood. Rather than moving on, they ambushed Fallingpaw when he used Patches’ technique for catching birds. He had been so proud; having dropped perfectly onto an escaping bird’s back as he dropped from the trees while Adderfang caught the second.

“They dropped like stones out of the trees,” Adderfang growled, “They hit Fallingpaw first, beating and pecking and scratching at him to make him drop his prey. When I jumped to help him, they fell on my own freshkill and tore it to bits. Fallingpaw held on to his catch like a warrior. But in the end, three came at him at once and he lost his grip on it, trying to fend them off.”

“We will have to bring it up at the gathering tonight,” Darkstar meowed, “For now Fallingpaw, get some rest.”

“I’m fine!” Fallingpaw protested, “I’m not scared. I’m as brave as any warrior. If they come after me again, we’ll dine on crow till we’re as fat as badgers!” His trembling legs betrayed his brave words, but Darkstar growled in approval.

“Then I’ll look forward to your fine catch the next time it happens. But for now, rest. You can’t catch crows with blood in your eyes.”

Snowpaw stifled a sigh as she patted the last strands of cobweb onto Fallingpaw’s injury. “Try to duck their claws next time too. There are only so many cobwebs in Shadowclan territory. This is the last of them until Briarrose comes back with more.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The gathering was fascinating. Cats from all clans gathered and mingled, murmuring gossip to one another.

“Hello.” Said a voice in Patches ear, “How’s your warrior doing?”

Patches turned his head and saw Fernmask, the young Thunderclan warrior who had tried to help. “Silverleopard is fine, if a little shaky.”

“I’m glad,” she meowed, “It’s always frightening when a clan member falls ill.”

A yowl drew their attention to the largest tree, where the four leaders gathered together. The other clans had nothing new to report save harmless gossip.

Darkstar saved his news for the last. “We have grave news. Silverleopard was poisoned by drinking water poisoned by monster blood. This was only the start; prey too has been poisoned and is dying. Crows have come to the territory, and even though we buried the crowfood, they remain. They grow bold swiftly. Fallingpaw lost prey to a group of them when they attacked. We seek to warn the other clans; they may cross borders. These carrion feeders are not above attacking cats to steal.”

“Great Starclan,” someone in Riverclan muttered, “Foxes, poison and crows. What next? Dogs? Famine?”

“Hush mousebrain! From your mouth to unwanted ears!”

Darkstar waited for the murmuring to die down and continued, “Despite this, we are proud to announce Patches, Splasheye, Nightsky, Firefly, Bumblebee, Blackear, Fawnstep and Littleflower as warriors. We also are proud to announce Burnpaw, Fallingpaw, Brightpaw, Littlepaw, Heavypaw and Dapplepaw as apprentices. We are strong, and will protect our borders to the last kit.”

Patches noted that Darkstar didn’t mention who was mentoring the apprentices, and suspected it was to keep the other clans to kicking up a fuss the way Shadowclan had. Mews of congratulations raced around the clearing.

“CAW!”

Cats yowled in alarm at the sudden, loud cry. The clan leaders hissed as a large black form swooped over the cats in the clearing and perched in the highest branches of the tree, glaring down with soulless black eyes at the four leaders.

“Caw!” The cry was softer now, and it fluttered its wings, as though settling folds of night more comfortably on its back.

“Crows don’t hunt at night,” a quavering voice broke the silence that enveloped the island.

“Then what is it doing here?” asked another cat.

The crow paced back and forth on its branch, glowering down at the leaders, never allowing its baleful gaze to waver.

Earthstar growled. Darkstar hissed. Birdstar and Swiftstar curled their lips and snarled as one.

A normal bird would have fled. The crow stopped pacing and fixed both pitiless eyes on the four cats, then cawed again, unfolding its wings and seeming to blot out the moon as it streamed through the trees. Its massive shadow engulfed the clearing below. A frightened yowl escaped a single throat, and in seconds it had spread throughout the clans. Cats huddled together, not caring which clan its neighbor belonged to.

Patches shuddered as the darkness fell over him. He felt alone; more isolated from any cat or ancestor than he’d ever felt before. For a second it seemed as though the entire sky was blotted out and not a single star gleamed.

Then he felt warmth press on him from either side. The scents told him it was Burnpaw on one side and Fernmask on the other.

Suddenly warmth flooded his soul. He was not alone! He had the clans all around him. He glared back up at the dark creature that menaced the peace of the clans. He locked eyes with it.

Seemingly enraged at the Manx’s defiance, the crow took to the air, arched up and plummeted toward him. The thunder of wings seemed to fill the night and its claws seemed to be slices carved from the dark bits of moon.

Patches lunged upward, snarling, and leaving his apprentice and the startled Thunderclan warrior to topple over in the empty spot where he had just been. Sharp claws lashing, he felt more than saw them connect and the bird gave a very un-menacing shriek of shock and pain. Blood pattered down on his white front legs and he was buffeted about the shoulders by the wings as the bird struggled to gain altitude. A final blow knocked him sprawling back against his companions as the bird labored skyward and fled across the lake and into the trees far across the lake.

Starlight and moonlight spilled over the clans, and a warm, soothing breeze ruffled the pelts of every cat. Puffing slightly, heart thundering in his chest, he looked up to see everyone staring at him.

“Is every cat all right?” Darkstar’s voice rang out.

There were mews of assent. Patches stood up and shook out his fur.

“That was either the bravest thing I ever saw, or the most mousebrained.” Earthstar’s normal rumble was slightly muted.

“I’d say bravest, since my warrior protected both an apprentice and one of your warriors.” Darkstar replied, but without heat.

“Not to tell other clans what it should do, but Riverclan is going to send a warrior with its Medicine cat to the Moonpool the next time they meet. If crows fly by moonlight…” Birdstar meowed.

The other leaders were nodding, “We don’t want another incident like the foxes caused.”

“Then this meeting is over.” Swiftstar meowed curtly, “May Starclan watch over you all.”

Patches was sure he wasn’t the only cat to see how the four Medicine cats shared a long look before separating without a word to join their clanmates. And he didn’t need to be a Medicine cat to know that the crows were a sign. Not from their ancestors, but a sign none the less.


	12. Chapter 12

_Rustle. Creak._

Patches jerked awake just as the sun was starting to peek above the horizon, unsure why. His nerves tingled and his claws sprang out of his paws, itching madly. He had an overwhelming urge to claw at a tree trunk just to relieve the sensation. Normally, it meant that danger was near. But who? Or… what?

With his nest near the entrance of the warrior den, he could tell at a single glance that every warrior was still asleep, their soft snores wafting through the air. The dawn Patrol hadn’t even stirred yet. A cat sighed faintly and shifted, nestling deeper into her nest. It should have been soothing, but it was only irritating.

_Flap. Flap. Creak._

Patches was on his paws in an instant, suspicion burning through his veins. That wasn’t the fluttering of a morning bird, preparing to break into early morning song.

It was deliberate.

Stealthy.

And it was above the camp.

Creeping to the very edge of the protective overhang of foliage, he peered upward, trying to spot the movement without being seen.

_Flap. Flap. Creak._

There! The movement drew his eyes to a lower branch of the pine tree that sheltered the freshkill pile. A single crow had worked its way down the tree and was eyeing the few remaining pieces of freshkill with beady, black eyes. It could be a spy for the rest of the crows, or it could just be an individual, greedy for a piece of freshkill for itself. Either way it had found the camp, and that was bad news. There was no way to cross the distance without being spotted. Patches crouched low, ready to leap upon the bird the instant its claws touched the floor of the camp.

More movement caught his eyes. Fallingpaw was stalking up to the tree, eyes fixed on the crow. The scratch above his eye was nearly healed and his legs trembled slightly, but the gleam in his eyes showed that he wasn’t going to let fear stop him. Leaping silently, he clambered up the far side of the tree where the crow was perching; lips curled back from his teeth. With a rustle of wings, the crow dropped into the clearing and began tearing at the body of a bird.

Fallingpaw’s feet shook the branch as he bounded along the length of it and leaped.

The startled bird looked up in time to get a face full of the apprentice’s claws before he landed on the bird’s back.

It uttered a shriek and flailed; flapping wings buffeted the apprentice as he gripped its neck, desperately trying to kill it swiftly like a true hunter. But the crow was almost larger than Fallingpaw, and his small muzzle was having difficulty getting a proper grip amongst the slippery feathers. Startled yowls rang around the camp at the racket as Patches charged. The apprentice’s claws had blinded the bird, ensuring that it would not be able to see if it tried taking flight. With a powerful swipe, Patches struck the bird’s head as hard as he could and it finally collapsed.

Bruised and bedraggled, the apprentice staggered back, looking triumphant. “Teach you… to steal… my prey,” he puffed.

Half a heartbeat later, it seemed that every warrior in camp had surrounded the two cats and the dead crow. Murmurs and gasps raced through the clan as the apprentice lifted his head proudly.

Darkstar gestured for silence with his tail. “Report.” He ordered, looking from Patches to Fallingpaw.

The clan leaned in eagerly, listening to Patches account and Fallingpaw, who chimed in eagerly for his own side of the story.

“One found our camp?!” Runningstream meowed in alarm.

“Fallingpaw and I took care of it.” Patches reminded the clan. “He landed perfectly on the crow’s back,” he approved, “No warrior could have done better.”

Fallingpaw glanced at him, startled by the praise, and Adderfang was quick to add his own voice to the chorus of approval.

As the voices faded to silence, Shadowstep indicated several cats with a sweep of his tail. “We thank Starclan for Fallingpaw’s quick response, but it also serves a lesson. If one crow can find the freshkill pile, so can others. We must move it to a more sheltered spot in camp. We must think like the crows, as well as like cats.”

“How?”

“By concealing it from above as well as from below,” the deputy rumbled. “I want some cats to climb into the tree branches and look down upon our camp. Help the warriors on the ground by showing them places that cannot be seen from above. Warriors on the ground, listen to your clanmates, and see if some of the camp’s defenses can be made to shield us more form above.” As cats yawned and began to stumble into a semblance of motion, Shadowstep gestured for the dawn patrol to go. “We must keep the other clans from thinking Shadowclan is weak,” he meowed. “If we patrol as usual, they will never know that the crows are anything more than a nuisance to us.”

“Patches, go with them,” Darkstar added, “and take your apprentice. You haven’t shown her the borders yet have you?”

Patches nodded in agreement and gathered up his wide eyed apprentice.

The patrol started out peaceful, despite the frequent calls of crows that seemed to bounce from the very treetops. Burnpaw kept warily next to her mentor, and no cats of the patrol lingered as they freshened their markings. Patches instructed Burnpaw on the borders and the scent of the rival clan across the path.

“It’s too quiet,” Firefly muttered, as they continued along the border.

“What? I can’t hear you with all the crows making a racket.” Badgerfur meowed loudly.

“Hush, both of you!” Grassblade hissed, “Listen!”

All cats perked their ears as high as they could go. A faint breeze made the pine needles rustle in the trees. A crow cawed somewhere to the left. No prey stirred in the undergrowth, despite being on the Thunderclan border, farthest away from the poison’s deadly path.

“Feh, the crows probably made enough racket to chase the prey deep into their holes,” Firefly grumped.

“Not everything, surely,” Patches protested.

“Great Starclan!” Burnpaw meowed suddenly.

Every cat jumped.

“What is it?” Patches was the first to ask, before Firefly could make a caustic remark about scaring the patrol.

Wordlessly, Burnpaw pointed with her tail at the road.

Ice formed in Patches’ veins, and every other cat froze in horror, backs arching. A lump lay on the twoleg path, still except for the faint wave of its fur in the soft breeze.

Grassblade gestured with her tail for the rest of the patrol to wait, ignoring Badgerfur’s hiss to ‘get back here right now, you mousebrain!’

Cautiously, she crept out into the open, sniffing warily every few steps. She stopped a few pawsteps away, peering around, and then slowly edged around to the other side of the lump. Her eyes flashed wide and she gasped, recoiling backward; unaware that in her haste to put distance between herself and the whatever-it-was, she was backing toward Thunderclan.

A challenging yowl sounded from Thunderclan territory and a Thunderclan patrol charged out onto the twoleg path, with Shadowclan rushing forward from the other side to keep their clanmate from getting surrounded.

A shriek tore the air and both patrols scattered before they could exchange blows, or even reach one another. A dozen crows dropped out of the trees, cawing. Ignoring the cats, they descended on the lump in the road and viciously tore at it. In moments it would be gone; devoured by the voracious birds.

As the patrol retreated to the trees in their territory, Badgerfur rounded on his clanmate with a hiss, “What in the name of Starclan made you go out there?”

“What if it had been a clan cat?” She threw back at him, “Injured and unable to move, would YOU want to be left to the mercy of those…those... things?”

“Oh yes, I can tell. We did a lot of good. Running away like frightened mice. I feel so brave and helpful.” Firefly snarled, and sat down with his back to them, vigorously washing his tail, which had frizzled out to be nearly the size of his own body. He had obviously been terrified, and was using anger to cover it up.

“What was it?” Patches finally asked quietly when they had been silent for a few heartbeats.

“A badger.”

Every cat stared, even Firefly, whose tongue still stuck out of his mouth in mid lick, forgotten.

“Th-the crows k-killed a b-badger?” Burnpaw squeaked in horror.

“Probably not. It was most likely very young, and it might have been injured and weak before it was…” Grassblade trailed off.

“You couldn’t tell?” Badgerfur asked hesitantly.

Grassblade shook her head, “Not much left. And absolutely nothing inside. I could have stuck my head into its ribcage.

Burnpaw shuddered all over and Patches got up briskly, trying to change the subject in hopes of keeping his apprentice from having nightmares. “Well,” he meowed with false heartiness, “this patrol won’t finish by itself.”

“Quite right,” Firefly left off washing his tail with much more enthusiasm. “Mustn’t leave it half done or both Shadowstep and Darkstar will have our ears.”

Patches suspected the young warrior was more enthusiastic about getting away from this spot as soon as possible rather than the prospect of finishing the patrol. Not that he could blame him.

No cat looked back, but Burnpaw wasn’t the only one to flinch when an angry raucous call sounded behind them and wings flapped noisily as the birds quarreled over a scrap.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The camp was well underway when they returned. As Firefly and Grassblade had both noticed, prey was scarce, and the freshkill pile didn’t grow much. The hunting patrol complained in low tones that barely anything had stirred, and that more than one pile of bones had been found, stripped clean by the invading crows.

Crows had been seen as far across the lake as the twoleg place, stooping down into the grass and spooking the horses whenever they plummeted too near their pen. The patrol speculated that the crows were hunting the mice that had come to feed on the horses’ grain; the prey being small enough to be killed by the carrion eaters.

Many cats were going to go hungry tonight, and worse, though there was an overabundance of warriors, there wasn’t likely to be many kits this time. The young warriors were newly made, and unlikely to worry about kits until next Newleaf. Most of the senior she-cats had an apprentice, and so having kits would be the last thing on their minds. Patches shuddered at the thought of Silentdeath becoming a mother, and Grassblade seemed to be enjoying her apprentice/kit free time. Silverleopard was the only other she-cat free, and she still tired out very quickly just going to the dirtplace. Definitely not queen material.

_Feast or famine._ Patches sighed to himself. _We pay for an overabundance of cats by having almost no cats for the next generation._

“Patches?”

He blinked away his thoughts and looked over at his apprentice.

She stared up at him earnestly, “Could we go hunting? I… I feel all restless with the freshkill pile so empty.” She turned to gaze at the nearly empty scoop of earth.

“A hunting patrol just came back,” he reminded her gently, then got to his paws at the downcast look in her eyes, “but we can ask.”

_Mush heart,_ whispered a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Gentlebreeze.

“Take some of the younger warriors,” Darkstar told him before he could even open his mouth. “Fawnstep and Littleflower are excellent trackers, and they will probably be eager to stop shuffling plants around and get out of camp for a while. Do some hunting toward the Riverclan border, I want to hear how the forest is healing on that side.”

Neither of the young warriors looked eager at the prospect, and as Fawnstep pointed out, “It won’t heal any faster if he keeps prodding at it.”

The cats spread out, sniffing cautiously and grimacing as they worked their way through the mud and little streamlets. No trace of the poison remained, though several plants looked quite wilted still.

A few scrawny bits of prey later, the two younger warriors ranged off in separate directions, searching for signs that the territory was recovering; as Darkstar had asked.

Burnpaw’s ears suddenly stood tall, her eyes locked on a bit of movement beneath a bush. Dropping into a crouch, she tensed before leaping off to the side and vanishing among the branches of a bush.


	13. Chapter 13

Burnpaw felt a tingly rush of pride. She did it! From a standing position she had leaped out and caught a lizard! She turned back toward where Patches was waiting. He would be proud of her, and she knew exactly who she wanted to feed it to too!

The apprentice opened her mouth to call to Patches and stifled a gasp of shock, ducking low behind the bush that concealed her from sight. Patches had been sitting half in and half out sun, his fur making him seem like part of the light and shadows of Shadowclan territory. Now however, he was no longer facing the direction she had leaped. He was on his paws, claws biting into the soil, yellow eyes narrowed at Sparkfire and Silentdeath.

Sparkfire sneered, “We’ve been training with that move you taught me, Rogue. You won’t win this time. No more cheap tricks. No more moves a real clan cat doesn’t know.”

Silentdeath looked around. “Apprentice.”

“Yeah, Rogue. Where’s your apprentice? Forgot you’re supposed to be training her?” Sparkfire ran his tongue over his teeth, making them glisten in the sunlight.

She wanted to rush out and help him. But what good could she do going up against two fully grown warriors? Patches yawned widely and Burnpaw was struck by the difference. Her mentor’s teeth were large, full and very white. Compared to him, Sparkfire’s fangs were like the tiny needles of a kit. Perhaps he could take care of himself after all? But this wasn’t right. Patches was a clan cat now; and Burnpaw thought he was the best mentor a cat could ever have. What should she do?

As though he had heard her frantic thoughts Patches meowed clearly, “I can fight any cat, Sparkfire. Even two if need be. But it is a mark of a coward to gang up on a single cat. Worse, it is the mark of a traitor to attack a cat that your own clan leader accepted into the clan. What would Darkstar think?”

“Who would find out?” Sparkfire sneered, “Poor, poor Patches! That horrible Riverclan crossed our borders and murdered him. His grieving apprentice will have to be given a new mentor… a REAL clan cat.”

Burnpaw didn’t wait to hear any more. Swiftly and silently, she spun and raced back to camp as fast as her paws could carry her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Silentdeath blinked slowly at Sparkfire, then her eyes got colder than usual and she stepped back a few paces. “Watch,” she meowed and sat down.

Sparkfire shot her a look of fury, and then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

_So Silentdeath didn’t know about his intention to kill me. So she won’t help him. Of course, she won’t help me either._ Patches watched Sparkfire’s every move. Like all Shadowclan cats, Patches had found their fatal flaw; they were hot tempered. A clan cat could be goaded into a fight merely by being accused or insulted, sometimes going wild with fury and losing the ability to think through the battle if prodded in just the wrong place.

“You didn’t learn everything there is to know, Sparkfire.” Patches growled softly, “Learning a kitten’s trick doesn’t make you a warrior. In fact, I’m sure I could lay you out like a row of fresh kill for the crows to get fat off of.”

Sparkfire screeched at Patches’ insolent tone and attacked, claws bared. From there it was a whirlwind of movement. Patches used to be a powerful cat, capable of striking so hard his opponent would be unconscious in a single blow. But now with Shadowclan living, he could also run. Oh not for too long or too fast, but he had stamina; he could now use bursts of speed to his advantage. By the time Sparkfire landed where Patches had been a second before, he was already raking his claws along the hateful warrior’s flank. Sparkfire was quick though, and the two cats tumbled; clawing, biting and struggling to get the upper hand.

_True fights are silent fights._ Cats who fought and skirmished did so with a lot of screeching and snarling threats. Cats who fought for their lives saved their breath. Sparkfire didn’t know this. He snarled and cursed and screeched, while Patches kept his breath and fought with every ounce of strength and skill he had. Patches was bleeding from a score of wounds, but Sparkfire was worse. Red streaked his black fur and he was half blinded by his own blood. They tumbled over, came up and separated. Hatred burned in Sparkfire’s eyes and he leaped on the panting Patches, catching him in a Suffocate Hold.

It was too late to duck and escape. Patches thrashed. _He’s going to kill me. He’s really going to kill me._ He thought helplessly, as Sparkfire refused to let go the way that Patches had. He could feel Sparkfire pressing him down, trying to pin him. Already out of breath, Sparkfire blocking his air was quickly making him dizzy. He had to make the warrior let go! _I can’t pull back. I have to go forward!_

Patches planted his paws solidly on the ground, braced himself, and rammed his muzzle as hard as he could into Sparkfire’s mouth.

Something clicked audibly, Sparkfire gagged hard, and Patches was free. He sucked in a desperate gulp of air as Sparkfire staggered back, his jaw locked open and his eyes wide in horror. A strangled wail issued from his locked open mouth and he thrashed in the dirt. Mindless rage burned in the warrior’s eyes as he suddenly surged to his paws, beyond pain now he lashed out, claws whistling through the air for the Manx’s throat.

Something slammed into Sparkfire so hard he was thrown clear off his feet. A wall of bristling fur separated the two cats; Fawnstep and Littleflower glowered at the wounded, breathless warrior.

“Father, how could you?” Littleflower meowed, “He brought my sister, your _daughter_ , home.”

“I think this whole grudge has gone on for far too long.” Darkstar’s voice was caustic enough to strip the fur from a badger. He padded out of the shadows, his eyes furious. A wide eyed Burnpaw and a scowling Briarrose stood just behind him. “Interesting though. What did you do to him Patches?”

“I only…dislocated…his jaw.” The Manx panted, “Briarrose…can put it…back in its…place.”

“Why would I want to?” Nevertheless, the medicine cat examined the stricken warrior. “This will hurt. Pin him,” she ordered, and the two young warriors pinned his legs as she planted a paw on his lower jaw, and shoved.

There was another click, and Sparkfire screeched. He could move his jaw again. He staggered to his feet as soon as he was released and worked his jaw tentatively, searching for any sign of permanent damage. He was in obvious pain, but he stared suspiciously at the herbs that a stiff legged Briarrose left in front of him, as though afraid of what she may have mixed with them.

“Eat them. They are only herbs,” she growled coldly, “though they may be the last herbs I ever give you.”

“Why bother healing a traitor?” Fawnstep snarled.

“Because I took an oath before Starclan. I did not, however, ever promise to be gentle about it to cats like this.” Briarrose had already turned away from Sparkfire and was checking, much more gently, the extent of Patches’ wounds.

Burnpaw had appeared at Patches’ side, her green eyes wide and anxious. “Are you all right? Did I… do the right thing? I felt so bad leaving you…”

“You did brilliantly,” Patches approved, “I knew you would be clever enough to figure out what to do. And you did it so quickly too.”

Her small chest swelled with pride.

“You’ll live.” Briarrose sighed. “I have plenty of cobwebs now, but there won’t be more than a mouthful of herbs left to ease your pain.”

Patches dipped his head slightly. “Keep them for a cat who truly needs them.”

“What is your part in all of this?” Darkstar’s voice held an edge as he glowered at Silentdeath, “and keep in mind, your normally brief answers will not be acceptable.”

The white she-cat blinked and flicked her tail, “Sparkfire spoke many long winded complaints about how Patches was not a Shadowclan cat. He ranted about how he used dirty tricks to win their first fight. I agreed, at least on the part of using unknown skills. I agreed to help him practice the move, so that they would be even in the next fight Sparkfire challenged Patches to.”

“A rematch to a mock battle designed only to show off Patches’ skills was not your decision to make,” Fawnstep growled.

Darkstar flicked his tail at her to silence her, but nodded in curt agreement. “Patches’ skills were unknown at that time. There is no shame in not knowing what the other cat may be able to do.”

Silentdeath twitched an ear as though to dismiss a moot point. “We practiced. Sparkfire insisting more and more on the move Patches used to win. He would not accept my suggestion that every move has a counter, perhaps two. After he embarrassed himself before the whole clan by implying Silverleopard was better off dying, he seemed to be as crazed as a badger with a thorn in its nose. He insisted on fighting now, while Patches was alone. I came to observe. I did not know Patches was training his apprentice, and I did not know Sparkfire planned to murder Patches.”

From Silentdeath, this was a long winded speech, and even Sparkfire looked briefly surprised at how much the she-cat had said in a single conversation.

But the she-cat was not finished. She turned and focused her icy blue eyes on the Manx, her gaze holding a spark of respect. “I am sorry. I should not have agreed to help challenge you. You will never be my favorite cat, but you are a clan cat if Darkstar says you are.”

“How nice of you to come to that conclusion,” Darkstar meowed dryly. He turned and stared at the traitorous warrior for a few heartbeats with a stony expression. Finally he jerked his head in the direction of the camp. “Bring him.” The dark warrior flinched as he was herded along, his own daughter walking along with her lips curled.

Burnpaw padded by Patches side, shooting fretful glances at the cobwebs that coated Patches’ many injuries. Some of them had bled through.

Cats gathered around at Darkstar’s call, many gasping and staring as Sparkfire crouched under guard and Patches reluctantly accepted the few precious herbs that Briarrose carefully patted onto his worst wounds.

“Sparkfire has made his dislike of Patches well known.” Darkstar meowed, “I do not ask that every cat be friends, but it is necessary for every cat to at least get along well enough to serve the clan with the loyalty that the code demands.”

Some cats were sharper than others, and a low murmur began to spread among the clan.

“Today, Sparkfire broke the code in a way that is unforgivable. He ambushed Patches during a hunting patrol and attempted to kill him.” There were low gasps from every direction. “A cat who defies his leader’s direct orders is not a clan cat. A cat who sets up a treacherous ambush against his own clan mates endangers lives from the wisest elder to the tiniest of kits.”

A warrior growled. Another hissed. Soon Sparkfire was cowering under the onslaught of the clan’s vocal fury.

Darkstar allowed it for several heartbeats before cutting it off before any cat could work himself into enough of a fury to attack Sparkfire. “Sparkfire, you have betrayed your clan and the code that every warrior upholds. As of now you are banished from Shadowclan territory. You will be escorted to the farthest reaches of our territory and away from the lake. Should any cat find you trespassing on Shadowclan territory afterwards, they will have full permission to end your miserable life.”

The clan was silent now, furious gazes burning into Sparkfire’s pelt as Shadowstep and Runningstream escorted the new rogue out of the camp.

As soon as they were gone, Darkstar swept his gaze among the clan cats; the whispers had risen into low horrified murmurs. He seemed about to speak again, then shut his jaws with a faint snap and leaped down, shaking his head.

“Patches, your duties are lightened until you can move without pain. Don’t strain yourself. We can’t afford to have you crippled by infection with so few herbs to help you.” Darkstar’s voice was unusually quiet as he spoke to the Warrior. Then he turned and vanished into his den, his eyes troubled and a little sad.

“It is a heavy burden he carries,” Grassblade meowed as she padded up to the Manx. “Losing a warrior who could be helping the clan is a great loss to us all.”

“He attacked my mentor!” Burnpaw meowed angrily, her fur bristling.

Grassblade nodded solemnly, “But think of it this way… Every clan leader likes to look upon their clan and feel the support and loyalty of every cat he or she is responsible for. To find a traitor amongst them is like a thorn in his heart, and shakes the very ground under his paws. How can he feel secure in knowing the clan will remain strong when a warrior suddenly turns on the others?”

“You seem to know a great deal about what a clan leader thinks,” Patches said as Burnpaw looked thoughtful. “Was Darkstar the only cat who could have been leader?”

She shook her head, “It’s not like that. Shadowstep and I were close friends in the nursery once. He still comes to share tongues with me and I know when the strain is getting to him. It’s not hard to imagine how much harder it is for a clan leader.”

“Not easy to be a Medicine cat either.” Briarrose finished patting the last bit of herbs into Patches’ injuries. “Better go tell Darkstar how things looked. That was why he allowed you to go out on another hunting patrol wasn’t it?”

Nodding, he got to his paws and padded toward the clan leader’s den. Fawnstep and Littleflower quickly joined him.

“Plants are still wilted, but the poison seems to be gone from the water.” Patches reported when Darkstar invited them inside.

 “Prey is still too scarce to hunt much, but it is obvious they are slowly recovering.” Littleflower added.

“I saw frogspawn in a pool above the effects of the poison,” Fawnstep added hopefully, “They were nearly ready to be frogs.”

Darkstar was silent for so long Patches thought he had fallen asleep. The clan leader’s eyes were closed and his ears barely twitched as they reported. Finally his eyes opened. “Did you find anything?”

“A few.” Patches nodded, “And I think Burnpaw managed to catch something before she had to come get you.”

The thought of prey that had actually been caught seemed to revive Darkstar somewhat. “Good! Good. Retrieve it all if you can. We can’t let a bit of it feed any belly other than the clan’s.”

The patrol padded back out into the forest, quickly finding the prey they had buried. Burnpaw padded proudly out with her catch, a large lizard nearly as long as her tail. All three warriors praised her catch and she padded alongside them, carrying it and strutting proudly. It vanished into the elder’s den almost as soon as they returned to the camp, and when Burnpaw didn’t immediately come back out, Patches suspected she was engrossed in a story.

“If that apprentice of yours could hunt the stories of elders, the whole clan would be fat in a day.” Brightblossom meowed to Patches, eyes twinkling in a friendly way as she and her apprentice padded past.

“The warriors would become elders, and the apprentices would be the best hunters in the clan.” Patches teased back. “Off for training?”

Brightblossom shook her head, “Nearly patrol time.”

Shadowstep and Runningstream appeared, faces grim, and padded to the camp walls; moving plants without a word. Runningstream had a new cut on his shoulder and Shadowstep’s fur was unusually ruffled. Apparently Sparkfire hadn’t left peacefully, and the two felt they needed an activity to work off their stress.

Brightblossom shared a slightly alarmed look with Patches and quickly herded her apprentice off to join the patrol that was forming.

A crow cawed in the distance, answered by several more all across the territory. A horse whinnied in surprise far across the lake. Somewhere out there, the rogue Sparkfire might be planning revenge. And as the clan grimly continued about their business, a large black shadow flitted across the camp as its owner flew between the trees.

Briarrose stared upwards, her expression haunted. Then she spun and darted into Darkstar’s den, tail whisking out of sight as fast as a frightened mouse.


	14. Chapter 14

It was only a few heartbeats later that Briarrose poked her head back out and gestured for Patches to follow her with a jerk of her head. Heart heavy, he obeyed. He had recognized that look in her eyes when she had looked upward. Skygaze got that expression whenever he had seen a sign. But he had never seen that expression of hopeless terror before. If she wanted him to hear it, it could only be about him.

“I have received a sign,” she meowed to him without preamble as soon as he was in the shadowy den where Darkstar made his nest. “and it concerns you.”

_Can I have an extra piece of freshkill for guessing right?_ He wondered sourly. “Why am I not surprised?” he sighed out loud, “My life is one long prophesy.”

She gave him a sympathetic look, “Cats that Starclan favor rarely have peaceful lives. But they do have full lives, and if they do their best to fulfill the path laid for them, they are guaranteed a place in Starclan.

Patches nodded in weary assent. It wasn’t like he could change the fact by arguing after all.

With a glance at her clan leader, Briarrose intoned, “Darkness consumes all, leaving the land barren. Light and shadows plunges into the heart and tears it asunder.”

Patches squeezed his eyes shut and took in a slow deep breath.

“Patches, does this mean anything to you?” Darkstar asked when he had been silent for a long moment.

“Only that if I don’t do something, the clans will be destroyed.”

“We got that.” Briarrose meowed, with a hint of frustrated impatience. “Do you have any idea what heart you are supposed to tear asunder?”

He shook his head.

“Anything at all, even the strangest guesses may help.”

“Possibly something to do with the crows,” Patches ground out slowly, “But I can’t rip the heart out of every crow around the lake.”

“No,” Darkstar’s shoulders slumped. “No cat could even if every clan around the lake called upon every kit, queen, warrior and elder to help. Briarrose, please let me know if you have any dreams that clarify this prophesy.”

“We are going to the Moonpool tonight,” the medicine cat reminded him, “I can ask our warrior ancestors if they can clarify.”

“Take Patches.” Darkstar ordered, “He’ll be no good for patrols or combat training, but he has experience fighting the crows. He is a good warrior to take with you. Don’t worry,” he added to Patches, “the other warriors going with their medicine cats will be under a similar truce to a Gathering. Perhaps you can show them your technique so they can protect their own clan mates from these flying vermin.”

Briarrose stared at her leader in shock.

“It is one move,” he reminded her, “And it is a move that Shadowclan doesn’t need to hide because Patches knows it from elsewhere. We are not giving away any clan secrets, Briarrose.” He glanced at Patches, “Go ahead and rest; it will be a long night tonight, keeping watch over the medicine cats.”

He almost managed to hold back the wince, as though reminded of one more thing that was wrong around the lake.

As Patches padded out of Darkstar’s den, he heard Briarrose meow gently, “Don’t let Sparkfire’s betrayal shake your confidence, my leader. Patches shares no blood with our clan, and yet he has proven loyal. He is an example to every cat, and many look up to him for it.”

The Manx’s ears warmed at the complement.

“I wish I was going with you,” Burnpaw said enviously as he explained to her where he was going that night.

“I will let you know what it looks like,” he promised.

Eight cats met up that night; Stonestripe and the new warrior Mudslide from Thunderclan, Appleseed and the warrior Icychill from Riverclan, Fawnspot and the warrior Redember from Windclan, and Briarrose and the warrior Patches of Shadowclan. By apparent silent mutual agreement, the medicine cat apprentices seemed to have been left at camp for this trip.

The Moonpool was a beautiful place, and as the eight cats padded along the path, Patches could see the water; so clear and still that for a second he thought a chunk of the night sky had been captured and spilled into the spot. A small ache rose in his chest as he thought about the Starpool back in his old clan.

“Keep your ears pricked,” Fawnspot meowed, “If they can interrupt a gathering, they can interrupt us here.”

Appleseed winced visibly. Patches had noticed the Medicine cat walking funny, and Icychill admitted in an undertone that he had been severely injured during a fox attack only a few moons before.

The four medicine cats grew still as they took a small tongue full of the clear water and padded off into dreams to speak with Starclan.

“I saw you leap at that crow at the gathering,” Mudslide meowed softly. “Could you teach us that move?”

“The crows are getting bolder, especially in Windclan,” Redember admitted, then closed his mouth quickly before he admitted anything else.

“I think we should all learn it,” Icychill pressed, “The crows are a danger to us all; we’ve all seen that at the Gathering.”

Patches nodded, remembering Darkstar’s encouragement, “Gather your legs beneath you. Position yourself as though you are sitting.” He demonstrated, and all three cats followed suit, watching him carefully.

“Keep most of your weight on your hind legs. You want your hind end to do the crouching. Then thrust upward and slash with both front legs.” Patches leaped and lashed out with his claws, slicing the air.

“Don’t you want to grab the bird around the neck and drag it to the earth?” Mudslide asked.

Patches shook his head. “This move is meant to meet a diving crow from the front. Crows have sharp beaks and strong claws. They are too big to hold from the front or easily break their neck in a hunters bite. The last thing you want is to pull an angry, slashing, and pecking crow close to your face, chest or belly.”

The cats nodded vigorously. Patches watched the three other warriors and helped them adjust their balance and positions. “Slash and let go.” He advised. “You want to hurt the crow and make it flee. Unlike other birds, they are not as helpless on the ground.”

It seemed as though only a few heartbeats passed before the four Medicine cats stirred and shook themselves. Appleseed seemed particularly happy, but all he would say was that he was looking forward to the birth of some kits in a moon or so.

A crow cawed in the far distance and every warrior flinched; darting glances in its direction, and then hopefully back at the Medicine cats. But none of them said a word about the crows; merely sharing a glance and then turning to pad toward the path from the Moonpool.

Before they all separated, each of the warriors thanked Patches for the move and promised to teach it to other cats in case the crows attacked.

“I take it you didn’t get anything new out of… um, Starclan.” Patches said quietly as they slid under the cover of Shadowclan’s pine scented forest.

“No. I didn’t.” Briarrose growled curtly.

“I wish I knew,” Patches hissed in frustration, “I wish I knew what to do. Please believe me Briarrose. If I knew what to do, I’d circle the whole lake four times if I had to.”

She sighed and slumped, “I’m not blaming you Patches, and I don’t doubt for a heartbeat that you would try until your life bled out to help the clan. Starclan had nothing new for me, and I am no closer to helping any cat. The only good thing about this whole day was Snowpaw finding an untouched patch of comfrey above the effects of the poison.”

Wearily, the two cats returned to the camp. It seemed only Burnpaw and Flametail, who was on guard, was still awake. In hushed tones, Patches described the Moonpool to his eager apprentice, and then sent her off to her nest with a gentle swat at her tail.

Sighing, he slid into the warrior’s den. Nightsky opened her eyes briefly as he padded in. Her beautiful eyes sparkled faintly as she took in the way he slouched to the only nest available. Rising slightly, she touched her nose to his shoulder, and gave a faint purr. “You rescued me,” she whispered. “You brought me home. You saved Silverleopard’s life. You earned the respect of the clan and the right to mentor an apprentice. Whatever’s laying on your shoulders, remember what you’ve already done.”

He touched his nose to her ear gently in thanks and watched as she sank back into sleep. Finally, sleep pulled at him and he dropped his nose onto his paws.

***

It was dark. Darker than Patches had ever seen in the camp. No moon rose above the forest. A thunderous caw made him jump, and crows the size of Monsters plummeted down upon the camp. His legs felt frozen as he stared upward in horror. It seemed impossible that so many of the monstrous birds loomed over him. Malignant black eyes glared downward, and another pair of birds dropped like falling trees. Their massive wings blotted out the sky. Cats wailed and screeched as they struggled to fight, to flee, to do anything. Tabbypath bolted across the clearing, aiming for the Medicine Cat's den. He never made it. A massive clawed foot came down, flattening him to the earth. His last conscious act was to stretch a paw in the direction of Spottedleopard's hiding place, mouth open in a soundless cry. The booming cries of the crows sounded like peals of thunder. Yet another crow plunged down, a sweeping wing ripping the sheltering foliage away from the Medicine cat's den. A beak plunged down.

"Briarrose! No!" Snowpaw's voice cried out.

The massive bird tossed its head back and swallowed.

The cries of cats was fading now, and the paralysis that held Patches was gone. He threw himself at the nearest monstrous bird's chest, claws flashing, but they merely slid off the sleek feathers. A beak stabbed downward, missing Patches' body by a mouse tail. The two sharp points of the upper and lower beak hit the ground like a falling tree and embedded briefly in the earth. Not wasting any time, he darted beneath its body and leaped upon its tail, scrambling and slipping as he tried to climb its back.

Darkness began to lessen and he watched in horror as the leaves and needles of the foliage crumbled into dust before his eyes. The bark on the trees was stripped away, leaving the trunks and branches bare and white like bleached bones.

Impossibly agile, the massive bird twisted its head around and glared at the frantic Manx. The beak parted and a voice croaked out, cold and emotionless.

_“Darkness consumes all, leaving the land barren. Light and shadows plunges into the heart and tears it asunder.”_

Then the massive wings spread and the giant bird carried him high into the air. The Shadowclan territory dwindled beneath him, then the lake, then all the territories, until the lake was a puddle and the surrounding trees were twigs. What had been a clear lake was muddied and all about the lake the devastation could be seen. Trees were overturned, underbrush flattened. For a second he couldn't tell if it was trees bleached in the cold, dim light, or the bones of cats.

The massive bird heaved beneath his paws and Patches flailed as the slippery feathers slipped out of his grip. He woke with a gasp and a jerk an instant before his body hit the hard earth far below.

With a great effort and trembling paws, he hauled himself to his paws and pushed out of the Warrior's den. Moonlight streamed down between the trees, filtered into a gentle, diffuse glow. A night bird called out, and not a crow could be heard. A breeze rustled the needles, and the rich scent of pine reassured him that the territory was unaffected by the terrible devastation in his dream.

Patches grit his teeth. _I don’t know what you want from me!_ He thought furiously at the silent night sky, _Tell me what this heart is! Don’t play games with me just because I come from another clan! What do I have to do to prove I’m loyal to your clan mates and to your clan?_

“Patches?”

The warrior swallowed a gasp and turned to see Snowpaw peering out at him from the Medicine Cat’s den. Seeing the troubled look in his eyes, she slipped out and gestured with her tail for him to follow.

“You look like you’ve had a dream. A really, really bad one too.” She meowed softly as they sat outside the dirtplace.

Hesitantly Patches described to her what he had seen. She shook her head sadly. “I don’t doubt for a moment that these crows could destroy the forest. We’ve seen the piles of bones. We’ve seen shadows flitting about so often we barely flinch at them anymore. Briarrose all but ordered Darkstar to refuse to let any cat out of camp without at least two others.”

Despite his pounding heart, he could feel his whiskers twitch at the thought. “Did he take it well to be ordered about by his Medicine Cat?”

“Well her pelt is still intact, so I would take that as a good sign. He probably even agrees. Don’t be surprised if those orders are given at the next clan meeting.”

Slowly the amusement faded away as Patches glanced around again, remembering how the camp had been ripped apart by the attacking giant crows.

“Starclan sends us signs,” Snowpaw meowed, breaking into his thoughts again, and her expression was serious once more, “They give us clues and visions. They almost never tell us, ‘This is what is wrong and this is what must be done.’ We are responsible for figuring it out for ourselves. If you don’t know what something means, you may not have all the information yet.”

Paws itching, he couldn’t help but pace, “And how many cats must be hurt in the meantime? How many cats must suffer growling bellies, no herbs and danger to their lives before the clouds part and the light shows me what I should do?” If he’d had a tail, he would have lashed it.

“Our lives aren’t meant to be warm sun and fat prey, Patches. We’d be kittypets if it was. The only thing we can do is keep our eyes open, our ears perked and our claws sharp. You’ll find a way. I know you will.”

He shook his head morosely and padded slowly back to his nest. Tomorrow would be a difficult day; he felt as though he had been fighting all night, and the moon was already sinking toward the horizon. Was he going to have another nightmare tonight? He wasn’t sure he could take it.

Collapsing yet again into his nest, he was asleep almost as soon as his belly touched the soft lining. He didn’t notice the warm chin come to rest between his broad shoulders and certainly wasn’t aware of the soft purr that began a heartbeat later. The only thing he realized when he woke up later, was that his sleep had been both deep and dreamless. And, oddly, a spot between his shoulders felt cool, as though a source of warmth had left that area.


	15. Chapter 15

The day was bright and clear; too cheerfully so for Patches’ current mood. The few bright spots in his mind were soothing sleep he had sunk into, and spotting Burnpaw practicing her tree climbing while she waited for him to get ready.

Watching her, he felt a rush of approval as she nearly slipped, caught herself, and made it to the lowest branch without a scrape, a scramble, or a creak to betray her. He reached absently into the small dimple of earth where the freshkill pile was, eyes on his apprentice. Dismay sparked through him when his paw hit dirt. _Silly cat,_ he scolded himself, _watch what you’re reaching for._

Dismay turned to nausea when he turned to look and found the spot completely empty. Not a lizard tail to be seen. The clan would go hungry if the hunting patrol brought back nothing. Frustration sang through him. He wanted nothing more than to tear this “heart” into pieces so that prey would run like it was supposed to.

Several cats were missing, so a hunting patrol had to be out already. The border patrol was just vanishing from camp.

Sighing he padded over to the tree where Burnpaw was perched. Maybe if they focused on something else, neither of them would notice their grumbling bellies. A flash of fur made him glance up and inspiration struck. Burnpaw was threading her way from branch to branch in the lowest part of the tree, peering down through the branches at the goings on in camp.

In Starclan, cats moved along the narrow paths halfway up the twoleg nests, flowing smoothly from light to shadow. From that vantage point, a cat could see far along the thunderpaths in at least two directions. Tail signals could be passed from sentinel to sentinel and alert the camp in just a few heartbeats.

No cat could complain if Patches put that skill to use. It might even be useful for spotting crow movements. With a soft grunt, Patches sprang for the trunk and swarmed up it, joining Burnpaw in the lowest branches. It wasn’t battle, it wasn’t patrol, and his injuries only pulled lightly as he worked his way along the branches. Assuming he didn’t catch himself, he wouldn’t start bleeding. Moving carefully and quietly, the two Shadowclan cats slipped into the cool shadows of the forest.

“You’ve been keeping secrets,” Patches chided Burnpaw, as she nimbly moved from branch to branch, “Or were you born part squirrel?”

Guilt flashed across the apprentice’s face.

“You were climbing trees before you became my apprentice weren’t you?” Patches guessed, and saw by her expression that he was right.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” she whispered, “Brightpaw and I climbed them as kits and would practice moving from branch to branch above the nursery.”

“You could have fallen. It would have killed you.” Patches shook his head, amazed this rebellious tuft of fur had put her life in that much danger.

“Don’t… don’t start, okay?” She flinched, “Rosethorn, our mother, had to go to the Elder’s den as soon as we were weaned. She said nursing us was too draining to go back to warrior duties.”

_What a horrible thing to say in front of your kits!_ Patches snarled to himself, _Why not call your kits ‘ticks’ and be done with labeling them as parasites? If you can’t handle kits, you shouldn’t be gallivanting about with toms!_

“There were only two other queens,” Burnpaw continued, her eyes fixed intently on the branch beneath her paws. “I think the fact that we stayed out of everyone’s fur kept the other two from being overloaded.”

Biting back a growl, Patches instead tapped Burnpaw lightly on the nose with the soft pad of his paws. “If you start mewing about being useless or a burden on the clan, I will dump you in the lake myself.”

At her startled glance, he gave her a slight purr. “Come on. Up on this branch.”

Obeying his instructions, Burnpaw padded slowly along the branch and crouched, peering through the pine needles and out over the Shadowclan territory. Her gasp of pleasure was all the reward he could ever want.

“Look around. Look at how much of the territory you can see.” Patches kept his heavier body close to the trunk so he wouldn’t shake the branch beneath her paws. “I think that while climbing trees was risky and more than a little foolish for a kit…” Burnpaw lay her ears back guiltily, “…it turned into the best lesson you could learn. What could you and the other apprentices do up here?”

“We could watch the territory,” she breathed, “We could see all over and signal to other cats what we see.”

“Now, try and convince me that this skill is useless.” He rumbled.

She shook her head, eyes squinting slightly as she surveyed the ground. Abruptly, she tensed, small body going rigid. “Patches! Don’t move!” She hissed.

A few seconds later a crow swooped overhead and landed in the branches above them. Screened by the thatch of pine needles above them, the two cats froze as the large bird sidled up and down along the branch, shaking bits of broken needles down on their heads. The cats waited, barely breathing, as the large bird went still.

It seemed like moons had passed before there was movement on the ground. The hunting patrol had returned, each cat proudly carrying a bird. It was obvious they were returning from the Thunderclan border, having lured the birds across with Patches technique.

“No…” Burnpaw whispered, her eyes darting up at where the crow above them lay in wait, and the patrol striding purposefully along the path. Movement stirred in all the trees around them; wings slowly unfurling. It was an ambush!

The birds rose into the air as one and dived toward the forest floor.

“Hunting patrol! Look out!” Burnpaw’s shriek made every cat look up in alarm.

Shadowstep was in the lead. His yowl was muffled around the bird in his jaws and overwhelmed by the cries of the attacking crows. But it was obvious the patrol heard and obeyed. The patrol scattered, hauling their prey along as quickly as they could.

Bumblebee vanished into a small thicket, yanking his tail in a half whisker length ahead of three crows. Their caws of fury rose through the still air as they flapped futilely at the tangle of prickly underbrush and branches too fragile for the birds to land upon.

Grassblade and Flametail guarded a gully, while Dapplepaw huddled at the bottom, protecting the prey that was stuffed down with her. The two warriors protected the apprentice, who in turn lashed out at anything that got within reach.

Shadowstep himself stood over his piece of prey, leaping and slashing as several birds tried to find a chink in his defense. One crow dived down on top of the tom. He sidestepped neatly, and as the startled bird tried to regain its balance, he leaped onto it and sank his teeth into its neck. Its harsh caw was cut off abruptly and the crows lifted off, their cries fading with the distance as the powerful deputy stood proudly over the dead crow. Another piece of freshkill for the camp.

Burnpaw padded quickly along the branch and Patches slithered down the trunk ahead of her to join the patrol on the ground.

“Well done,” Shadowstep approved of his entire patrol.

Bumblebee stuck his head out, and then vanished again. He reappeared backing out of the bush and dragging his own piece of prey. The cats gathered together, checking one another for any sign of injuries and finding none.

“Thank you for the timely warning Burnpaw,” Shadowstep said, and the young cat’s chest swelled with pride.

“Let’s get to camp,” Flametail meowed as Dapplepaw lifted a piece of prey to Grassblade, “The last thing we want is for those birds to come back with reinforcements.”

Patches carried the crow and Burnpaw carried the deputy’s pigeon into camp while Shadowstep reported to Darkstar the foiled ambush.

“Seems you keep surprising us with your skills Patches,” Darkstar meowed good naturedly, “Tell me, have you figured out how to sprout wings?”

“I’ll let you know when I do. But I can’t take all the credit.” Patches demurred.

“You can’t?”

He shook his head, “Burnpaw showed to me how well she could climb the trees now. She was the one who spotted the crows taking position. She was the one who called out to the patrol when they started to attack.”

Shyly, Burnpaw nodded.

“Excellent. Keep practicing.”

After Darkstar padded away, Patches’ expression turned serious again. The crows were attacking patrols directly now. Enough was enough. What neither Patches nor Burnpaw had mentioned was the direction the crows had fled. Deep into Shadowclan territory, where the trees grew the thickest and little light made it through the branches, they had settled. Understanding made his head buzz and his paws itch.

Wherever the crows returned to was where their nests would be. It would be their camp... their **heart**.

Shadowclan celebrated the prey and every cat gathered together to feast. As the clan settled down to share tongues, content with full bellies for the first time in a quarter moon, restlessness tugged at his paws.

His back prickled as he slipped out of camp, expecting some cat to challenge him and ask where he was going. No cat did. Moving as quickly and as quietly as he could, the Manx made for the deepest part of the territory.

A crow cawed overhead and he froze as one of the birds swooped through the branches and settled in a tree farther ahead.

"So what's the plan?"

Patches barely managed to stifle a yowl of shock. Nightsky appeared next to him from the shadows, her eyes focused on the movements ahead of them in the trees.

"How...what...?" he spluttered.

Nightsky smirked at him. "Mousebrain," she meowed affectionately. "You aren't the most subtle of cats. Oh you can blend from shadow to light like you're made of it. But you were the only cat with burning determination in your eyes and claws kneading the soil like you were preparing for a fight. Darkstar told us to follow you."

"Us?" Darkstar whispered, feeling dazed.

Nightsky nodded behind him and he turned to find several pairs of eyes locked on him. Burnpaw, looking accusing that he had tried to leave her behind. Grassblade, calm and amused by his surprise. Tabbypath, trembling but looking to him for direction. Tabbypath's apprentice Heavypaw, looking proud to be along for the fight.

"So," Nightsky repeated, "what's the plan?"

Patches blinked, and then shook himself. Turning so he could talk to the cats determined to help him, he began to lay out his plan.

"The crows roost in the trees," he meowed, "Their line of vision will be on that level. If we walk along the branches, we'll be seen. We have to climb up quietly and tear down the nests from below. Either rip through them from beneath, or just shove them out after breaking the twigs supporting them.

Grassblade nodded, "It's a good plan. But there aren't enough of us. There are too many crows." As though to agree, a coarse cawing broke out ahead of them, sounding like malicious laughter. "We need the rest of the clan," she insisted, after a dark glare in the direction of the crows. "No cat will begrudge being pulled away from a moment of contentment if it means peace and safety for the clan."

Patches narrowed his eyes at the movement up in the trees, mind working furiously. They waited patiently until he gave himself a curt nod. "Burnpaw, run back and rouse as many of the clan as you can. The rest of us are going to scout out where the nests are so we can assign cats to deal with them."

"Okay but... you better not start without me!" She gave him a fierce glare. "Don't ever try to leave me out of anything like this ever again."

"I promise," he meowed, looking as meek as he could.

"All right then." And then she was gone.

"Mushheart." Nightsky teased gently, not realizing that Gentlebreeze had whispered the same words into his thoughts.

"Right, let's go. Don't let yourselves be seen." Patches meowed hastily. "We want to take them completely by surprise."

They all nodded and spread out, melting into the shadows.

He felt a warm touch between his shoulder blades, light and quick, and then it was gone. He turned quickly, but could only catch the tip of Nightsky's tail vanishing into the undergrowth. Warmth seemed to spread outward from the spot and he purred briefly before pressing into the underbrush in his own direction.

She had grown into a beautiful and proud warrior. The humor in her eyes said she had learned to play. The confidence said she had grown into a fine young warrior. And the gentleness said that she held none of her father’s treachery in her blood. Patches resolved to spend the rest of Greenleaf focusing on her, assuming the plan worked. If a light touch could warm him like that, he could only imagine what it would be like to curl up with her in a nest.

Spotting the crow nests was difficult; they were made out of slender twigs and needles, and nestled among the twigs and branches and needles of the trees above. But finally he managed to locate a number of them, including a nest bigger than the others. He silently marked that one in his mind. Something told him that this was the nest he needed to destroy for himself.

As he padded back to where they were to meet up, he heard Burnpaw sounding frustrated, “They should be back by now. Patches _promised_.”

“So I did,” he reassured her, pushing his way out from behind a fern and nodding to the assembly of cats waiting with intent eyes. “and here I am. It just took a while; the nests are well camouflaged.” He looked around. “Am I the first back?”

Darkstar nodded, “While we wait, perhaps you should fill us in on your plan.”

One by one the others padded back as Patches explained the situation.

Darkstar shook his head, both admiring and exasperated, “I told you to stay out of fights, and you lead the clan in an all out war.” He sighed, “Well, nothing for it I suppose. I couldn’t hold you back if I used half the clan to do it.”

“The other half of the clan would be out here executing the plan themselves. Really Darkstar, do you think you can hold us back now, when we suddenly have a way to take our territory back?” Shadowstep flexed his claws eagerly.

“Never in a lifetime of moons, old friend,” Darkstar flicked his tail. “All right warriors, I want four patrols, one for each warrior who scouted out the nests. Two cats to a nest.” He ordered, narrowing his eyes at them, “I want no heroics or bravado. One to attack the nest, one to help and to keep an eye out for the crows when they take flight. As soon as they know what’s going on, they will attack. Look out for one another, and don’t fall out of the trees.”

Silently the clan separated and fanned out into the forest. Patches pointed out the nests and two by two, his patrol began the long climb.

"Ready?" Patches whispered to Burnpaw.

She nodded, her eyes locked on the large nest above.

The climb was painstakingly slow. The tree was tall and every cat in every tree had to freeze whenever a crow swooped by overhead. Once or twice, a quarrel broke out above and the cats collectively held their breath as several crows would swoop by close enough to ruffle fur in order to silence the fight.

Burnpaw shook her head in disgust and hissed under her breath, "They don't even try to get along."

"They aren't a true clan. They're just bullies banding together." he breathed back. "Now, we have to be quick. Keep an eye out."

Reaching underneath the nest, Patches began to break the twigs supporting the massive nest above them. The sound of twigs cracking sounded like thunderclaps in Patches' ears, and the sound quickly spread through the treetops.

A querulous caw sounded and wings stirred above them. Finally a loud crack from another tree sent the crows into a cloud of frenzied wings and alarm calls.

“Push!” came a yowl, and the first nest lurched forward and tumbled to the ground.

The noise became deafening as nests dropped right and left and the enraged crows dove down upon the warriors as they clung to the trees.

Partially sheltered by the massive nest above them, Patches and Burnpaw worked frantically to break a couple of particularly thick supporting sticks. An angry caw sounded so close that it nearly startled Burnpaw out of the tree. She made a frantic grab at one of the branches holding the nest up and struggled to maintain her footing. Claws rasped on bark as the supporting branch she clutched began to give way.

Patches grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, but the nest was sliding free with the inexorable force of a landslide. Warrior and apprentice were swept out of the tree and into open space. Burnpaw yowled in fear, as the world seemed to break up around them. With a rush and a thud, Patches gasped as he landed on a cushioning layer of pine needles and twigs from a destroyed nest already on the ground. Then the world went dark as the remains of the large nest tumbled down upon them.

“P-Patches?” came the unsteady mew.

“I’m here. Where are you?” He reached out with a paw and encountered the reassuring warmth of Burnpaw’s side. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No I don’t think so. Though I think I lost half a life from fear.”

He purred in gentle amusement.

“Hang on. I think I can dig us out.” There was a stirring sound and then light filtered in around them, showing Burnpaw’s hindquarters as she pushed upward. “Uh oh.”

The light vanished as the apprentice ducked back down again and he felt as well as heard her huddle back against him. The sounds of digging filtered through the needles encompassing them.

“What’s wrong? Is that the clan?” Bits of needles were filtering down at them from above.

“No.” Burnpaw’s voice was strangely calm. “The ground is covered in crows They’re between us and the forest. Patches, they know we’re in here. And they are digging us out.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Where’s the clan?” Patches wrestled his fear down.

“I thought I saw Silentdeath peeking out of the underbrush, but there are too many crows between us. Even if the clan attacks, they’re between us and safety.”

“Don’t give up yet.” Patches meowed. “If we give up, we’ll die.” He sensed her next comment and added, “If we are going to die anyway, isn’t it better to die fighting?”

Burnpaw’s muscles tensed and he heard her claws kneading the ground. “So how do we do this?”

Patches told her.

“Risky.” She meowed, “But I don’t have anything better.”

Light began to filter through gaps and the digging intensified. The crows were oddly silent in their task, and Burnpaw carefully shifted positions so that she stayed in the darkest part of the little bubble they were huddling in. Her orange fur would give their hiding spot away faster than Patches’ black and white fur.

“Patches. Patches?” a voice whispered down at them.

Burnpaw gasped silently, her mouth falling open. He hastily shook his head at her and narrowed his eyes. Rumors ran rampant that crows and ravens could learn to mimic sounds and voices.

“Patches?” The whispering voice was slightly louder now, and the voice was cold and cruel. Not even Silentdeath at her worst sounded like this. There was a heavy scrape and more pine needles rained down on them, but the bird kept their hiding place invisible in its own shadow.

Lips drawn back from his teeth, Patches slowly tensed and waited, “When I give the signal, run for the forest. Don’t stop for anything. Run across the crows backs if you have to.”

He sensed her nod.

A yowl from the forest made every bird jump a tail length into the air before they settled down again. The pounding of paws sounded and the thud and shrieks said that the clan was attacking. Some of the diggers turned away to help prevent the clan from rescuing their own. But there were still several crows perched above them. A heartbeat later, the digging resumed, and a black beak stabbed downward briefly.

“Now!” Patches thrust upward as hard as he could and collided with the startled bird’s chest. “Go Burnpaw! Go go go!”

Manx and crow fell free, leaving a path through the startled crows, who retreated to get out of the way. A streak of orange fur exploded from the hiding place and charged into the mass of crows, quickly lost amid flapping wings and screeching warriors.

He had no time to pray that she was safe, for the crow was lashing back, furious at having been cheated of what had been a hostage situation or an easy kill. Pain lanced through his injuries as his wounds reopened. It didn’t help that the crow as scratching and stabbing at him from seemingly every direction. It flapped its wings heavily, forcing the warrior to keep his head down to avoid being knocked unconscious.

Finally they separated; Patches’ sides were heaving and he was bleeding everywhere. The crow had lost several feathers and its beak gaped in attempt to catch its own breath.

A space had been cleared around them as they slowly circled one another. Sounds of fighting faded, the warriors closed ranks, forming a wedge and growling at any crow that ventured too close. The crows gave way, allowing the warriors to regroup with only a soft caw or a hiss to disrupt the waiting feeling that settled in the forest. Crows and warriors alike kept one eye on each other and one eye on the circling combatants.

Patches took this all in at a single glance, and then his eyes were all for his opponent. This was the biggest crow. The one he had attacked at the gathering. The one who seemed to be in charge of them all.

“Patches… freshkill.” The words slipped past that dark beak in the cold, terrible voice. “Freshkill freshkill crowfood!” It threw back its head and cawed an ugly laugh, a sound taken up by the crows surrounding the warrior.

“Is that all you can say?” Patches demanded.

“Patches. Crowfood.” The big crow repeated.

“That’s what I thought. You’re too stupid to actually talk. You’re just repeating the words.” Patches stood tall and uttered a loud, scornful yowl. “Come on then, or shall I bury you like the offal you are?” Turning, he kicked soil at the crow as through burying dirt.

Whatever its intelligence was, it understood that it had just been insulted. The crow attacked, and the Manx spun around, lashing out with both front paws, claws fully extended.

Someone shrieked his name, but his whole world had narrowed to this one battle. Fur and feathers flew. The battle surged into action again and raged around him. Nightsky appeared for a heartbeat, striking a glancing blow at the crow’s head before they were separated by another dropping down between them. It gave him the time he needed to writhe away from a beak that stabbed for his throat. An ugly, scaled foot darted across his vision and he bit it, holding on. The wounded bird shrieked and yanked, hauling the warrior a tail length before it wised up and stabbed at the back of his head, forcing him to let go.

He lashed out with a front paw, forcing it back as he rolled to his feet and sprang. His heavier body hit the bird and carried it backwards onto its back. His strong teeth pieced the curtain of feathers protecting its neck and it shrieked as it tried to get free. Wings flapped feebly, but it was pinned on its back and unable to land a proper bow. Claws raked at his belly, but he simply sidled a few steps to the side, never relinquishing his hold.

Then, suddenly, the crow in his jaws went still, then limp.

Wings thundered around him and the world became a wall of black flapping wings and flying feathers and shrieking crows.

Dazed he lifted his head and stared as the last of the crows vanished above the foliage, their calls fading into the distance. Slowly he unlocked his jaws and allowed the dead crow to fall at his paws.

Silence descended, save for the gasping of wounded and winded cats. Turning his head, he spotted a lump of black fur laying off to the side and for a moment his heart seized at the thought of Nightsky. Then he realized that the black fur had chocolate tips. Darkstar!

Ignoring the burning in his wounds, Patches limped over to his Leader’s side and nosed worriedly at the cat’s ears. He was laying very still, his breathing very slow and deep. A terrible wound at the side of his neck sluggishly dripped blood, and as he watched it trickled to a stop. The Manx swallowed hard, realizing that the Shadowclan leader had just lost a life in the battle. Starclan, _this_ Starclan, was healing the lethal wound enough for his life to slip back into his body.

“Patches… it’s all right. He’ll wake up in just a little bit.” Briarrose nudged him gently away, “Give him a few heartbeats to recover.”

Chest tight, Patches turned his aching head and looked over the clan. It seemed that the warriors had managed to avoid sharing Darkstar’s terrible injuries, but no cat was unmarked. One of Silentdeath’s eyes had swollen shut. One of Grassblade’s ears had been torn to ribbons and might not fully heal. Nightsky and Burnpaw sat side by side, sides heaving; supporting each other’s weight and bleeding from a score of injuries each. More than one cat had nearly lost an eye…or both… to ragged claw wounds that raked and sliced down their faces. It was obvious the crows had known exactly how and where to strike. It was only through Starclan’s blessing that none of them had scored a perfect hit.

For a second, Snowpaw and Briarrose shared a helpless glance, and then separated to take inventory. Every cat not guarding the camp was wounded and needed herbs. And the territory still hadn’t recovered from the monster blood that had tainted half of everything.

The trip back to camp was slow, cats leaning on each other and stopping frequently for breath. Patches grimaced at the sight of the weary, wounded cats limping along the forest trail. The gasps and cries of dismay of the clan as they returned pricked his heart sharp as a thorn. Warriors who had stayed with the camp were soon gone, bolting out into the forest to find nest material. Even some of the less injured apprentices limped back out of camp. The Elders Hawkcry, Whispersong and Rosethorn tottered to their paws and padded out in a unit. They returned with moss soaked in clean water, dock leaves and even a bit of cobweb.

Neither Medicine Cat nor her apprentice stopped all that afternoon. Every time a cat appeared, holding a precious paw full of cobweb or a few leaves of herb, they were blessed profusely and the supplies were snatched up immediately if not simply directed to the appropriate cat.

Patches glanced at Darkstar, who lay with his eyes closed. It didn’t need to be said. Shadowclan was weak. If the other clans began so much as a border skirmish now, Shadowclan would lose.

Heaving himself up, Patches made himself useful, following Briarrose’s harried instructions to go down to the lake to see if there was any comfrey or marigold on the sunny shores.

It was there that he spotted a cat crossing the border between Riverclan and Shadowclan territory.

Growling low in his throat, he stalked toward the intruder, knowing even as he did so that he could never fight him off. His wounds had only just stopped bleeding. His head throbbed and a funny ringing sound like a summer mosquito was stifling his ability to hear. He was lucky to be walking straight.

The black tom looked around and Patches froze, pressing low in the grass. There was no way his stark black and white fur could be missed, even in the tall grass, but the cat did indeed seem to miss him. Amber eyes swept over and past the Manx with barely a flicker, and then he turned away to gaze toward the lake as though expecting to see someone coming back from the shores. This was it. This was the only chance Patches would have to get the upper hand. Slowly he closed in, golden yellow eyes narrowed and lips drawn back in a silent snarl.

The cat’s ears twitched suddenly and then he spoke.

“I don’t expect to find anyone out here,” he meowed clearly, and Patches froze, blinking. Now he recognized this cat! It was Appleseed, Riverclan’s Medicine Cat! “But if I did, I would tell them that I received a sign this afternoon and that I am here alone. My clan knows nothing of what I am doing, and thus would never know of any weakness in any warrior from a competing clan. If I thought someone was out here, I’d tell them that I brought something useful for a clan that may possibly be in need, in return for the favor of getting rid of those filthy carrion feeders.”

With a flick of his paw, Appleseed lightly tossed a thick bundle of herbs backwards to Patches, so that it tumbled to a stop nearly at his paws. “I’m going to go back to the right side of the border now, so that the cat-who-is-not-here doesn’t have to put me there himself.”

Joy flooded Patches senses as he stared down at the massive bundle of herbs wrapped in a thick layer of cobwebs. He didn’t know anything about herbs, but there could be no doubt what this stuff was for.

“If a cat were here, he would be grateful for your discretion and kindness.” Patches meowed around the lump in his throat.

Appleseed merely paused for a half heartbeat at the border, and then bounded back across with a graceful flick of his tail.

Briarrose did a double take as he padded back into camp with the jaw achingly large wad of herbs. “You’ll have to tell me the story later,” she breathed. And then purring up a storm she accepted the herbs and began distributing them among the worst afflicted members of the clan.

Heavypaw shot through the clan entrance, eyes wide and delighted, escorting a limping Tabbypath and two medicine cats from Windclan and Thunderclan; Fawnspot and Stonestripe.

Each cat dipped their heads respectfully to a dazed looking Darkstar and lay heavy bundles of herbs down for every cat to see.

“Shadowclan looks busy and strong.” Fawnspot meowed lazily.

“I’m sure these herbs aren’t necessary,” Stonestripe added, licking a paw intently, “But just in case they were, we’d want them to be put to use.”

“Of course, of course.” Fawnspot turned to Stonestripe and put his whiskers forward in a mischievous grin, “And should any cat ask us where we’ve been, why a lakeside stroll was a pleasant thing to do while I discussed Medicine Cat business with my friend Stonestripe. After all, the disappearance of the crows is a sign every Medicine cat should celebrate and discuss.”

“Naturally, naturally. Come my friend, let’s not get under every cat’s feet during our innocent, leisurely stroll.” The two cats turned as one and padded out of the Shadowclan camp, making straight back in the direction of the neutral territory near the shores of the lake toward Thunderclan Territory.

Briarrose looked like she was choking on her laughter. “If ever there were two cats who should have been born siblings, it would be those two.”

Shaking her head, Snowpaw carefully picked apart one of the lumps and began chewing poultices. There was enough for everyone, and she wasn’t willing to make them wait any longer than they had to.


	17. Chapter 17

The clan recovered quickly thanks to the herbs brought by the other three medicine cats. There was enough for all, and even for a few changes in dressing. A late Greenleaf thunderstorm brought cleansing rain to the territories, washing the final scents of crow, poison and crowfood. As part of an added blessing from Starclan, the rain fooled some of the prey into thinking it was Greenleaf again. As prey began to run again, the clan began to recover its missing weight.

In fact, the only dark spot on the bright and fresh smelling days that followed was the silence in the nursery. The clan was growing strong again, but the lack of kits was worrying.

“Stop staring Patches,” chided a gentle voice at his shoulder. He turned to find Silverleopard blinking fondly at him, “Looking like a lonely kittypet won’t fill it any faster.”

A flicker of motion brought their attention toward the entrance to the camp.

“Excuse me,” she meowed politely, and vanished through the camp entrance, hot on the pawprints of Tabbypath.

“I was going to send them on patrol,” Shadowstep commented, gazing innocently at the sky, “but I think they’re on a more important mission.”

A purr rumbled in Patches’ throat. It was late, but kits born in Leaffall were better than no kits at all.

Patches caught the gaze of Nightsky and his purr deepened. “Speaking of which, excuse me Shadowstep.”

The Manx padded away without waiting for his Deputy’s reply.

***

The cold weather hadn’t quite turned to snow, as though the last warmth from Greenleaf had clung on by the barest claw tips through Leaffall. Chilly rain fell over the territories, just this side of finally making the final whisker width to snow. Prey was no longer running as freely, though the clan was doing well enough that it was in no danger of starving.

Slowly and carefully, Patches eased into the warm, dark space, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. The tiny squeaks drew him in, and he made sure to place each paw carefully so as not to accidentally find a tiny body beneath it. As watery light spilled inside, he got his first glimpse of the tiny sparks of life. Spottedleopard, her belly still swollen, gently washed his mate’s ears as she lay with her nose on her paws. She was exhausted, having given birth to four healthy kits earlier in the day.

Something warm rolled against his right front paw and he glanced down to see a black and white she-kit with a stubby little tail trying to nurse on one of his toes.

“You’ll find no milk there, little scrap,” he murmured, and gently rolled the kit back to her mother’s warm side.

“Sootkit,” Nightsky breathed wearily, “adventure another day, all right?”

“She’ll be all right,” Snowfall meowed, still proud of her new Medicine Cat name, “four kits were just a lot for her on her first litter.” She gently prodded Nightsky into eating a mouth full of borage before retreating to give them their privacy.

An all white tom with no tail at all, Driftkit, mewed drowsily and left off nursing to nap against his mother’s cheek. Dewkit, a black she-kit with white paws and a long elegant tail like her mother continued to nurse with her brother Featherkit. He was black and gray, sporting only a white splash on his nose as though he had gotten his nose dipped in snow. He too sported a long tail like his mother.

A gasp from Silverleopard snapped Patches out of his proud daze.

“Patches,” she gasped, as a ripple rolled through her pelt, “g-get…” She bit back a hiss of pain, but Patches was already squeezing out of the nursery as fast as he dared.

The two Medicine Cats spotted Patches’ expression and hurried to take his place. Patches, on the other paw, bounded out into the forest. Tabbypath had been ordered on a patrol to work off some of his fretting over his own mate. With his own kits now on the way, it was only fair that Patches relieve him of his duty to the clan.

As the forest flashed past beneath his paws, Patches sent a silent prayer to Starclan.

_Look upon those tiny sparks of life and shelter them in their frailest moments. Murmur your wisdom into their ears and help their hearts beat as one with the lifeblood of Shadowclan._

For just a heartbeat, a gentle breeze tickled his whiskers. Then the cats of the patrol at the Greenleaf twoleg place came into sight, and the tom bounded down to give his message to Tabbypath. As a father, Patches knew how important it was to be there for his mate, and Patches wasn’t going to rob the Shadowclan warrior of that.

***

A baleful yellow eye glowered at the patrol from the safe distance of the Greenleaf twoleg place. His fur was black with ginger flecks, and the look from his single eye was pure venom as it rested on the black and white manx.

“Sparkfire may be gone,” the cat hissed, “but he’s not dead. Don’t roll about with your belly exposed yet interloper. Blood will run before my thirst for revenge is satisfied.”

As if in rebuke, the new scar tissue where his missing eye had been throbbed painfully. The cat that had been Sparkfire snarled in rage and turned into the marshes of Riverclan, vanishing with a rustle of reeds and squelch of foul smelling mud.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This one was a whopper! For a while there I was kind of struggling with what to do with Sparkfire, since he had kind of vanished but left with the unspoken threat of not being gone. Look for his return in my next story.
> 
> For those of you who hadn’t guessed, that green, sweet smelling liquid that the monster was leaking was Antifreeze, a very poisonous liquid that can kill animals even in very small doses. It can also kill a human even in small doses. I kinda toggled between transmission fluid and antifreeze, but antifreeze popped up first on my google search for poisons so it won the coin toss. Please be very aware of your monsters, you twolegs who ride around in them; your kittypet could get sick and die from it.
> 
> Yes, the black blood that poisoned half the territory was oil. Probably mixed with something else depending on what Tabbypath broke in his revenge attack. I didn’t think very hard on that because I have no idea what a cat could have torn open inside a car. O.o  
>    
> For those of you still eager for more, don’t despair! Next up: Riverclan!


End file.
